Of Elves and Uruks
by Memory in Crimson
Summary: The Elves of Imladris allow a most unusual visitor into their hallowed houses. Glorfindel is linked to the unusual creature, and now he must protect his former saviour from the wrath of Elves, Orcs, and Men alike.
1. Unwelcome Discovery

**Chapter I Update: **24 May, 2011. Thanks to reviewer suggestions.

**Author Recommendation: **While the reader is not obligated to read _Foul Dips Into Fair_, which is available on this website, the author _highly_ recommends that the reader does.

The following fanfiction is a "What if..." tale, centered on the events in _Foul Dips Into Fair_. What if Glorfindel had reunited with the Uruk Norgash before he journeyed to the Grey Havens? What would happen if Norgash were allowed into Rivendell? And what of Elladan and Elrohir, who have vowed to slay all Orcs? Would Glorfindel be able to defend his unusual comrade from the wrath of the Elves?

* * *

_Of Elves and Uruks_

By Danners

**Chapter I Unwelcome Discovery**

The War of the Ring had ended. The Dark Lord Sauron no longer plagued Middle Earth, and his powers and minions diminished with his spirit. Nevertheless, even with the general peace, the forces of the Enemy lingered, wandering the wilderness, stealing what they could, robbing on the highways, murdering and beleaguering the Free People, though not as prolifically as before. Mostly Men concerned themselves with patrolling and administering justice, but the few Elves who had not yet returned to the Undying Lands doled their final vengeance upon their black-blooded foes.

Companies of Elves, most from Rivendell and Mirkwood, hunted Orcs and their greater stock, the Uruk-hai. Night and Day, the warriors patrolled the borders and roamed the forbidding forests, stalking vestiges of the Fiend. The hatred between Elves and Orcs runs deep, for though the ancestors of Orcs were once Elves, the fallen Vala Morgoth tormented them until he distorted hroa and fëa. These ruined beings came to hate the Light and all those who embraced it, and Elves loathed the Orcs, for like their Master, they perverted all that they touched.

Therefore, one of the companies from Imladris, the realm of Lord Elrond, was taken aback by their discovery, a mere fifteen leagues from their home.

The youngest warrior, Dúlinion, called out from the field to his companions:

"Here! Here! I have found him!"

The warriors rushed down the hills toward their comrade. Minutes before, their keen hearing had detected a weak and pleading voice from afar. They had scouted the area for any sign of an ambush, and once certain of their safety, hurried to the fallen being's aid.

"Who is it?" wondered one aloud as they stared at the prone figure in black.

"_What_ is it?" wondered another warrior with silver hair.

Two warriors kneeled beside Dúlinion, one of whom was Thorondel, Great Captain of the Patrols. He reached for the being's shoulder and elicited a groan. With a nod, he and the others pushed the being on its back, only to withdraw with the utmost alarm.

"_Yrch!"_ most cried, and all drew their weapons.

"End its miserable existence," said the one with the silver hair, all his disdain stirred.

The Orc groaned again, but warriors continued to hesitate. Then Dúlinion noted, "This is no mere Orc but one of that strange breed—an Uruk, they are called."

"By any other name," replied the silver-haired warrior, Echanor, "he is just as foul—"

"But—"

"_Tulu!"_

The cry startled the warriors, and they aimed their weapons at the creature. They had heard Sindarin in the field—that was why they had come. But surely this creature had not—

"_Tulu… tulu nin! Fa…"_ The creature huffed and wheezed as he struggled to breathe and speak. _"Farar… farar nin. I nôrthas nîn an… anwen. Tulu!"_

Thorondel paced slowly round the Uruk, Elvish eyes wide with trepidation. The others, too, had mouths agape, flabbergasted and alarmed.

"What devilry is this?" questioned one warrior, his voice trembling; but of course, none could answer. No Orc spoke the tongue of Elves, for these beasts knew only that wretched Black Speech, as well as lowly Common Speech, which they debased further with insults and curses. How, by fair Elbereth, could one speak Sindarin even somewhat competently, unless all this was some elaborate trickery?

Thorondel shook his head in disbelief. "I have lived so long and never_—never_ have encountered so… bizarre and disturbing a spectacle. In no way can Orcs reclaim that which they lost during that dark and foreboding Time. Indeed, my brothers, a dark magic works here, one deeply mired in the shadows."

Finally young Dúlinion spoke his mind: "Precisely my thought. He is no mere Orc." Then he paused as the grim possibility invaded his and the others' minds. "Master Thorondel? You do not suppose that…"

"Speak it not!" cried Thorondel's right hand, Arastalen. "Speak it not! No such abomination has been committed since the First Age. To suggest that even recently, Orcs have been made from…" He spoke no more. Silence, save for the Uruk's heavy wheezing and fading placation, reigned for a moment. Finally Dúlinion rose and rushed up the hill.

"Where go you?" his companions asked.

"To fetch my horse," he replied. "We must help him."

"Help _it_?" Echanor's harsh tone stopped the Samaritan in his tracks. He pointed his dagger sharply at the creature and said: "How know you that this is no trick? That we will not be followed or ambushed? Nay, I say, we end him now," and he kneeled quickly over the Uruk, only to have Thorondel restrain him.

"We might also be attacked for slaying him," he noted. "Impulsive you! Both of you!" And he turned to Dúlinion. "We shall wait a day, and return to see if he walks or his kind has come to fetch him."

Dúlinion frowned. "He will die before tomorrow! Please, Master Thorondel, we must help—"

Suddenly the Uruk cried out. The warriors aimed their arrows and blades again, only to witness Arastalen lifting it under its arms. The creature growled and then groaned, _"Charna enni!"_ And he wheezed and squeezed his eyelids.

Arastalen laid the body back down, gently pressing his fingers against the chest and ribs. The Uruk hissed, and the warrior reported, "Bruising, mostly. Some ribs are broken, and who knows what else." Then he paused and leaned an ear close to the creature's lips. "The Sindarin has not stopped.

"Thorondel, this troubles me deeply. We should not leave him—"

"And risk bringing doom to Imladris? No! Never!" Then Echanor chuckled in disbelief. "This is… that would be madness!"

Thorondel sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Then we are all madder than hares who dance in a midnight tempest." He glanced at Dúlinion and then finally commanded, "You and Athacúran, fetch the horses."

The young warrior smiled. "Yes, my Lord!"

"Search him for any weapons, and leave them. We will ride home to Imladris—I will not accept dissention!" he shouted as Echanor stood on the cusp of protest. "We will remain _calm_ and return swiftly. For if it—_he_ is certainly alone now, then he has been abandoned by his kind. They care for no stragglers and will sometimes kill them or leave them for dead. Now are my commands clear?"

The company assured him that they were and obeyed. The elves found only an empty hilt and belt and discarded them in the field. When the horses arrived, the Uruk's presence predictably aroused their fear. Since Elves could speak and be understood by their animals, they spoke softly and sweetly to calm them, but only Thorondel's hearty chestnut stallion would suffer to carry the creature.

So after carefully lifting the Uruk on the horse's back, the hunters rode across the hills and through the great mountain forests, over the crystalline streams, and following the noisy rivers to the House of Elrond, one of the last havens for Elves on Middle Earth.

While they rode, a pressing issue arose:

"Pray tell, what of Lords Elladan and Elrohir?" wondered Echanor. "Have we so quickly forgotten the torment that fair Lady Celebrían suffered? Will Lord Elrond allow that… abomination to enter? For if even _he_ might, his sons are due in Imladris very soon and will exact their justice upon it."

"Quite true, Thorondel," said Arastalen. "What of the brothers? They will give no minute of speech to this creature."

Thorondel sighed contemplatively. The company could not then abandon the being in his vulnerable condition. What if his Orkish appearance was merely superficial? What a crime—to leave him in the wilderness! But in Imladris, he would need a custodian at all times, guarding him from the wrath of an incensed community.

Finally, the Captain replied, "When that time comes, then it will concern us. For now, we must convince Lord Elrond himself to take in our charge and heal him."

Echanor remained unconvinced and unsympathetic, but no one spoke thereafter. In grave silence, they rode with weapons at the ready. When they finally reached the enchanted realm of Lord Elrond, passing through the gates of Rivendell, Thorondel dismissed his company, save Dúlinion, who wished to remain and defend the creature he had found.

Arastalen fetched Lord Elrond and returned with him to the courtyard. He spoke not of the Uruk but insisted that he come immediately.

"Mae govannen, gwador Thorondel," said Lord Elrond with neither a smile nor a frown. "You as well, young Dúlinion. What urgent tidings bring you?"

"I bring rather disturbing news from our patrol," said the Captain. "We found a body no more than fifteen leagues from this sacred realm."

Lord Elrond's grey eyes grew as wide as two brilliant moons. Thorondel continued: "He lives, yet we know not what he is."

Lord Elrond's brow fell, and he cocked his head. Then Arastalen and Dúlinion carefully pulled the body off the horse. The elf-lord held his breath upon beholding the creature, and he slowly approached it. He lifted its head by its matted hair, repressing his sickened reaction as he allowed the Captain to elaborate.

"He speaks Sindarin, my Lord," to which Elrond glanced at him in disbelief. "No Orc speaks Sindarin, for they know only that twisted tongue of Mordor and the curses and insults of Westron. We pray that you have an answer."

Elrond gazed at him with the utmost unease. An Orc in Imladris—of all places! Of all beasts! Then he gazed at that dark grey face, mottled with brown patches. The creature had strong cheekbones, a high forehead, and black, matted hair longer than shoulder-length. Thin lips sat beneath an ape-like nose, and his ears protruded further than any elf ears.

The creature wheezed heavy. The elves adjusted his muscular form, and he groaned:

"_Tulu… Charna enni, i tirhûn nîn…"_

The elf-lord was taken far aback. He glanced at the warriors and confirmed: "This is no ordinary Orc. Yet I sense no glimmer of Elvish fëa in him. He is most anomalous and will bring nought but conflict to Imladris." Then he paused, eyes glimmering with deliberation.

"However," he began, "I shall not cast him from my house so soon. Surely, my decision will arouse great ire, and my sons will soon return from their patrols. For the time being, we shall take this creature to the House of Healing and tend to his injuries."

The warriors bowed their heads and followed Lord Elrond through the long halls, swiftly passing any residents who happened along their way. Word would and probably already had spread quickly, describing their strange discovery. The three warriors assured their Lord that, for the time being, they would serve as the Orc's custodians.

As soon as he was stripped, the extent of his wounds was revealed as severe: his bottom ribs broken; his arms slashed and bruised; an arrowhead lodged in his upper left thigh. Though he could speak, he certainly could not converse with the elves, for his consciousness drifted helplessly between the waking and dreaming worlds.

* * *

As expected, the word had spread quickly throughout Imladris—rumour of a dark figure roaming the halls. Erestor, chief of Lord Elrond's Counsels, sought his master for an explanation. He was joined by the prince-lord Glorfindel, whose typically fair and fearless visage had been flooded with dread.

"He _allowed_ the spirit to enter?"

"This is what I have been told," replied Erestor. "I questioned the warriors in Captain Thorondel's patrol. They reported that the being was… was an _Orc_—of all things!"

"An Orc!"

"Indeed!"

In his alarm, Glorfindel hurried, and Erestor after him. They rushed to the House of Healing and beat on the locked doors.

"Lord Elrond! Lord Elrond!" they cried. "We must see you immediately!"

Frantic noises sounded from within. Moments later, Dúlinion carefully opened the doors, his sword in hand. The shocked elf-lords hurried inside before the young warrior locked the doors behind them.

"You arm this room? To fight your kinsmen?" Erestor questioned with the utmost alarm. "What requires such protection, that you would risk such a sin?"

Glorfindel glanced at the bed and the dark figure lying atop it. His heart nearly seized, and Time slowed his world. The rumours seemed clearer now as his mind washed in its memories. He whispered, restoring the name to its owner:

"Norgash."

Erestor, too, stared at the creature. Horrified, nevertheless spell-bound, he crept toward the bed and watched as Lord Elrond began to heal the being.

"So tale rings true." Erestor's voice was pregnant with weakness and woe. "The enemy has entered Imladris with the consent of its Lord. A Elbereth Githoniel, what spirit works here?"

Glorfindel, completely on the other hand, began to aid Lord Elrond to the elf-lord's surprise.

"You of all Elves are one of the last I expect to help him," he said.

"As are you, considering what has happened in the past, but my recent encounters…" Glorfindel stopped. All eyes fixed upon him, and he stared only at the Uruk's familiar face. When Elrond asked, his voice betrayed to Glorfindel that he almost knew for certain the prince-lord's answer:

"Who is he?"

The prince-lord withheld his reply for but a moment, stroking that hard brow tenderly as he dwelled in the last memory shared with the Uruk.

"He is Norgash to the Enemy, but Elenfëa to me."

* * *

**Glossary:** _Dúlinion_ (Sindarin) nightingale. Original Elf.

_Thorondel_ (Sind.) eagle-hearted. Original Elf.

_Echanor_ (Sind.) spear of the sun. Original Elf.

_Tulu nin! Farar nin. I nôrthas nîn anwen_ (Sind.) Help me! They hunt me. My steed [is] gone.

_Arastalen_ (Sind.) deer-footed. Original Elf.

_Charna enni_ (Sind.) literally, [It] hurts [to] me!

_Athacúran_ (Sind.) beyond [the] crescent moon. Original Elf.

_gwador_ (Sind.) sworn brother, comrade.

_i tirhûn nîn_ (Sind.) my rib cage.

_Elenfëa _(Sind.) elf-spirit. Glorfindel's name for Norgash, for he believes that the Uruk once walked as a member of the Elves before being cursed to his lower form.

Sindarin derived from lessons by Thorsten Renk and Helge K. Fauskanger. If they didn't have a word I needed, I have used their lessons in an effort to create my own, e.g. _nôrthas_ for "steed," derived from Tolkein's _northa-_ "to ride" or _tirhûn _"to guard" + "heart."

**Disclaimer: **The author, Danners, makes no claim over Tolkien's creations and makes no monetary gain from writing this fanfiction. However, original characters, including Norgash, are the intellectual property of Danners and may not be used without permission.


	2. Unwelcome Words

**Chapter II Unwelcome Words**

Arastalen and Dúlinion stood guard outside the Uruk's chamber. Glorfindel was summoned before Lord Elrond's counsel to retell his encounter of his dark companion, in full and in sooth.

"He is Norgash the Lynx, named for he is as wily and wise as any wild cat. In his youth, he showed great promise, for his mind was as sharp as a virgin blade, and his battle prowess was matched by few. He claims that he did not harm me during my unconscious states, and to my recollection, he made no attempt to harm me. He threatened me only with abandonment if I showed him disrespect.

"He confided in me that the wizard Saruman taught him Sindarin and Quenya because he was no normal Orc." Upon noting this, murmuring arose. Glorfindel assured them: "He was the only one who expressed interest in Saruman's plan. The wizard used Norgash as a guard who translated the words of… of Elvish captives."

Sharply drawn breathes resounded. Elrond frowned and asked, "What else, _gwador_ Glorfindel, before I regret having used my art on that creature?"

The prince-lord paused as Elvish eyes burned at him. He mustered his courage and chose every word wisely:

"He tormented none. He watched and listened. He could help none, for his unusual abilities had made an outcast of him among his kind. To save any, he would forfeit his life. He killed those he knew did not deserve to suffer so, and when the Ents besieged Isengard, he fled to the wilderness and no long connected himself with the Enemy."

The counsellors spoke between themselves before he revealed the most stunning information:

"I have more. Recall that rarely in the history of Arda, the Lord of Mandos allows a soul to walk the world a second time. This has been true mostly for our people," he said, glancing knowingly at Elrond. "I have good reason to believe that Norgash's abilities are not only a result of his Uruk breeding. Norgash is most likely a spirit reborn—an elf who long ago cursed his people and himself."

Immediately, the uproar he expected boomed throughout the courtyard. Lord Elrond rose, barely able to quell his brothers on his own. Nearby hung the Horn of Summoning, and Erestor blew it, regaining some calm.

Lord Elrond gazed at Glorfindel, his grey eyes gleaming with rare fury. Not since the Last Alliance, when Isildur betrayed the world, or when Lady Celebrían had suffered indescribable horror, had Elrond shone such anger. His voice trembled loud and grim:

"Lord Glorfindel, do you know what you say?"

Then Echanor, who had been summoned as a witness, cried, "What 'good' reason, Lord Glorfindel? How is that monster at all related to the Eldar, save what he and his people have done to us? It does not deserve the privilege of a trial, let alone what care it has already received!"

Finally the prince-lord's rage had been aroused, and he rose from his seat. "This is why is he a cursed soul—he has no chance! He has no chance to express his true feelings. He is made to dam all his thoughts until they gather strength and inundate him.

"He cursed himself!" he cried. "His city took no heed of his warnings—that the Enemy was gathering strength to conquer it. On the edge of death, he vowed that he would rather live as the Enemy than go to the Halls of Mandos. So it was, and Norgash can barely recall who he once was, and his forgotten memories, too, are a part of his curse. He is doomed to be an outcast among Elves and Orcs—that is his curse! I would not judge him harsher than I would Fëanor, but what he has done for me, what he has sacrificed—to me, he is redeemed somewhat. And as I draw breath, _none_ will harm him. I shall lay down my life for him, if I have no other choice, on my honour as Lord Glorfindel."

Silence fell. The Elves stared, many of them wide-eyed, at the defiant prince-lord, who shone brilliant and mighty in the evening twilight. A great warrior with the blade, Glorfindel could best any foe with a flurry or passionate words, when the opportunity arose. This seemed to be that occasion, where despite the Uruk's physical appearance, Glorfindel seemed certain—and had convinced just a few—that this Norgash presented little threat.

"A spirited oration, _gwador_ Glorfindel," replied Lord Elrond, "although I do not condone belligerent words among kin. Your grievance is as valid as any one's here, and so I shall adjourn with my counsellors and return with my and return with my judgment in the morning."

* * *

Voices echoed in the darkness, distant but definitely gnarled. Fearlessly, he strode through the void, steps falling soundlessly. In a sudden rush, the voices become distinct, the faces and setting apparent.

"Why you want old Sharkey teaching you Elvish for? Ain't like you can slide up to one of 'em before they cut you in two."

"It's for the War," he heard himself say, glancing at the Uruk beside him. "If we get our hands on a warrior or two, what they have to say could be useful. Course, they won't wanna speak in Common Tongue."

A snarl rumbled from one side of the table. Norgash glanced at his superior, Lieutenant Hontlûrz, as he ripped off and slurped down a chunk a flesh from the bone.

"You always were a queer one, Norgash," remarked the lieutenant in the midst of chewing. "That brain of yours is better off in battle, telling the little Snaga-hai how to _not_ get killed off like a bunch of cowardly rats."

"Come off it, Lurtz," began the burly female to his right. "You know what the boys think of ol' Norgi here. Fighter that he is—he's a fierce one, all right—but they'd still laugh their arses at half the things that come out of his mouth."

The lieutenant snorted in amusement. Norgash harrumphed and replied, "That's because they're shit-wits."

An Uruk further down the table slammed his brew upon the table and remarked, "The problem isn't _what_ you're saying, it's _how_ you're saying it. You speak all proper, like you're Sharkey or somethin', which for Sharkey is all fine. He's a wizard, but we are Uruk-hai. We're finer stock than the Snaga scum, but we aren't that fine. Ask the Captain," he said, pointing his brew at the Uruk at the end beside him.

The Uruk captain merely rolled his cloud-grey eyes. Lugdush continued: "Between you and him, you've got enough wits for nearly all of Isengard. Only difference is—"

"—you're so bloody formal!" interjected the female, Frûshkulkarn.

"Exactly!"

Norgash snarled and shook his head. Finally the grey-eyed captain pitched his opinion:

"Why not?"

"Why not what?"

"Why not Elvish?" he growled (for he never seemed to 'say' anything, but naturally 'growled' when he spoke). "Catch a batch, put them in prison next to each other. They'd never expect an Orc or an Uruk guard to understand a smidge of Fair Speech. Saruman can't watch them all the while. Be a pretty good idea, if I was you."

All the other Great Orcs stared, astounded and somewhat convinced. Sure, it was a hell of a lot much more fun torturing prisoners, but Saruman had adopted a policy of 'alive and unspoiled' that galled many. Who were they to complain, though? They'd get to torture prisoners once again once Sharkey found them less than helpful or having outlived their usefulness.

Norgash merely nodded, smirking triumphantly as he took up his draught and drank.

"Makes sense, I guess," replied Hontlûrz. "The Dark Lord Himself was all into subtlety and that kind of shit. As long as it works…" Then he tore off another strip of meat with his teeth.

Then Frûshkulkarn roared, "Subtlety, my arse! I'm no lady, playin' coy with the enemy. Gimme a day with chains, whips, and red hot pokers—I'll make 'em talk! I'll make 'em talk in good ol' Orkish, even, when I'm finished with their flowery arses!"

Her brother snorted. "Coy, indeed. Nothing about you is 'coy,' Kuli, the way you strut about, looking at inferiors—"

The female leapt to her feet, fists slamming on the table. "You should talk, arse-knocker! With your bare, black bum up in the air for anyone to screw with! _Lurtz kurv skûmuz brîz!_"

The lieutenant rarely took his sister seriously, and so he erupted into uproarious laughter. The other warriors joined him, and Frûshkulkarn stormed off.

"So I'm funny? So what else is new?"

"Yeah, tell me what I don't know!"

The laughter soon began to fade into mere echoes. Faces slowly vanished. All that remained was a crude warmth, elicited by the presence of jolly comrades, and that toothy grin on Norgash's face.

* * *

"You have not lost your good humour. That is most assuring."

"Mm?" The Uruk groaned. His eyes slowly opened, and he sniffed the air. In a jolt, he sat, only to be brought down by his lingering pain.

"Careful, my friend!" said the elf as he rushed to his side. "You have not fully healed."

The Uruk snarled. "I can very well _feel_ that ya—" He paused when he glanced up at the fair face before him, his green eyes rounder and wider than shields. "Sigilithil?"

The elf-lord cocked his head and smiled. Norgash pouted as he searched his memory for the true name. "Nar… nar, Glorfindel. Glorfindel, you sly Zanbaur! How'd I get here? What's—"

The golden-haired lord hushed him. He hurried to the doors and shut them, leapt to every window and glanced to and fro outside. Then he whispered, "You must be very quiet and very careful. I am surprised that you were not slain when they had the opportunity is miraculous."

"They?"

Glorfindel returned to his bedside when he finished securing the windows. "The Elvish hunters, one of Lord Elrond's patrols. They belong to the same kind of band with which I roamed when you and I met. The patrol discovered you in a field no more than fifteen leagues from here."

"Huh! And they didn't stick me…"

Glorfindel nodded. "You spoke in Sindarin. They knew not what you were, believing in their horror that you might be an elf, tortured to the thraldom of orcs." To which, Norgash snorted. "Nevertheless, they compelled themselves to bring you here, and Lord Elrond healed you."

"The Peredhel himself?" asked Norgash, wide-eyed. The elf nodded. "I really do owe somebody somethin'."

Glorfindel briefly smiled before someone knocked on the doors. The pair glanced at the doors, tensing, and the elf-lord quickly remarked: _"Reno! Pedo Sindarin minui."_ The Uruk nodded and reclined; then Glorfindel replied to the visitor outside: _"Minno!"_

In stepped a young elf, hair as black as midnight and pristine, sapphire blue eyes. He no longer wore the gear of Elvish rangers but a long silver robe and soft house boots. Dúlinion slipped inside, shutting the door tightly and leaning against it. The warrior asked, "How is he, Lord Glorfindel?"

The elder warrior stood and walked to Dúlinion. He replied quietly, "Resting well."

"Has he awoken yet? Said aught?"

Glorfindel smiled. "Not much. He still needs to rest, young _gwador_. I appreciate your concern, though, for many of my friends now question their friendship to me."

Dúlinion smiled as Glorfindel gently beckoned him back outside. He closed the doors and kept an ear to them until he felt certain that no one else would pass by them.

With a sigh of relief, he returned to Norgash's side, running a hand through his golden hair. Norgash lifted himself on his elbows, his question obvious in his eyes.

"Yes, he was one of them," said Glorfindel, and he sighed again.

"How came you to this land, if you do not mind to answer? You have taken a capital risk coming within one hundred leagues of Lord Elrond and his kin."

The Uruk snorted and sat slumped. "I'd've been killed anyway, if I hadn't. At least if _you_ had found my body, or someone else reported it, there'd be no doubt in your mind of my fate."

The elf-lord smirked one-sidedly. "I am honoured that you still retain a trust in me and a sense of that bond we forged mere weeks ago. But tell me, who is hunting you?"

The Uruk sniffled and rubbed his nose with his sleeve. "Remember the boys what tried to have their way with you?" Glorfindel frowned and nodded. "Turns out they were part of a bigger band, what they broke off from to get a little holiday an' do some scoutin'. The leader's an old Mordor lad, who didn't take kindly to me slicin' them up.

"So he tracked me down, all the while—lo! I've got horse-boys after me as well. Some one them actually remembered my face from an old raid way back during the war. So they ended up drivin' me back north, and guess who I run into? That bloke whose lads I cut up. So I figure, 'If these fu'—I mean, 'If these Mordor _worms_ are gonna do me in, I might as well let 'em have a taste of Elvish medicine for you.'"

Glorfindel smirked and tipped his head. "I am most grateful."

Norgash chuckled. "Right? Anyway, they managed to catch up to me, shoot me up, and try to take off my head. Horse-boys showed up all of the sudden, get me ribs broken. Mauhúr dashes for the Elvish territory, and I can't remember much afterwards. But if I know each party well enough, the lads won't be satisfied until they find my head. And the horse-boys'll get reinforcements, since they spotted so many Orcs."

The elf-lord's brow had become heavy with worry and contemplation.

"How many Orcs were in their company?"

Norgash thought for a moment. "Ten, probably more that I didn't see. One of them was also a Warg Rider. And speaking of, anyone spot my old Mauhúr?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Neither hair, nor footprint. Unfortunately, Lord Elrond has ordered his patrols to kill on site any other suspicious creatures coming with one hundred leagues of Imladris."

The Uruk rolled his eyes and snarled. "Oh gar! Great. Well, at least old Mauhúr has got some sense. He'll keep his distance until I'll get out of this place—not that it's rotten or anything," he added, but Glorfindel did not smile.

"I fear you may not leave alone without forfeiting your life to the Elves," he said, confusion moulding onto Norgash's face. "And even as you reside here, you are not safe. Even I might not be able to protect you."

"Stop dancin' around the facts. So the lot of you want to hang me high, burn me, and behead my corpse? So what's new?" growled Norgash. "So long as Elrond's little boys don't come here, not one will mess with me, right?"

Glorfindel averted his gaze. "I fear that the brothers will present a great challenge to your life, and very soon."

* * *

**Glossary:** _Hontlûrz_ (Black Speech) golden eye.

_Frûshkulkarn_ (Bl. Sp.) red bullwhip. Original Isengard female Uruk.

_Lurtz kurv skûmuz brîz!_ (Bl. Sp.) Lurtz, you smelly, horny slut!

_Zanbaur_ (Bl. Sp.) Elf-son.

_Reno__! Pedo Sindarin minui_ (Sind.) Remember! Speak only Sindarin.

_Minno!_ (Sind.) Enter!

The Black Speech I have here is derived from the now defuct www . lugburz . com / black _ speech . html. Since Tolkien avoided this language at all costs, no true standard exists. As such, I will take liberties with Black Speech.

**Chapter II Update: **24 May, 2011. Thanks to reviewer suggestions.

**Disclaimer: **The author, Danners, makes no claim over Tolkien's creations and makes no monetary gain from writing this fanfiction. However, original characters, including Norgash, are the intellectual property of Danners and may not be used without permission.


	3. Unwelcome Visitor

**Chapter III**** Unwelcomed Guest**

Lady Celebrían, fair daughter of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, had seemed a precious jewel, as fine as the autumn twilight. She had been a loving soul and had been beloved by those who knew her, adored by Lord Elrond and her children most of all. Elladan and Elrohir, naturally passionate spirits, had seemed tamer in their mother's presence, softened by her tranquil voice as she had regaled them with stories and songs. No one had dared to imagine harming her or seeing her harmed. So the bold attack by Orcs on the road to Lorien had shocked the most seasoned warriors.

For days, she had suffered. Orcs hold no love of Elves, save torturing them. By the time her sons had slain the pack of beasts and liberated her body, the poison had already wrought its black magic on her. Celebrían never again walked the mortal world with the brilliance of yesterdays. Nightmares had plagued her as much as her bodily wounds, and so she had been driven to depart for the Undying Lands, never to return to Middle-Earth.

In memory of their mother, the twins had vowed to hunt and kill all Orcs—all beasts that caused suffering in the world. Their vengeance came fiercely and swiftly upon the heads of every foul creature they met, a merciless hammer striking down their foes.

Elladan, Elrohir, and a small company had long ago sworn to remain on Middle-Earth until all the land had been cleansed. None anticipated sailing to the Undying Lands, but such was their loyalty to their campaign. The company had fought alongside Elassar during the final War for the Ring, but their vigilance continued long after the Enemy's forces had scattered and hid in the shadows.

From the south, they rode to Imladris for one of their rare and brief visits. Along the way, they encountered a band of Rohirrim, the golden-haired horse riders who were close friends of the brothers. Three of the fifteen horses bore no riders, and the Elves approached the Men, asking:

"What news, o' noble horse riders? For you ride nowhere but home, three horses with bare backs."

The leader rode closer to the Elves and replied: "We tracked a group of Orcs headed north toward Glanduin. Nine ran on their own foul feet, while two rode the backs of their Wargs."

The Elves appeared quite unsettled, for the Orcs had headed toward Lord Elrond's realm.

"Good Sir," began Elrohir, "tell us, have you slain them?"

"I fear not all," replied the Rohir. "We cut down two Orcs and injured one of the Wargs, but we lost three of our brothers during the combat. Eight scattered east to the mountains, while the other Warg rider fled, though I know not where, but severely injured—of that I am certain."

The brothers glanced knowingly at one another. Then Elladan said, "I fear that our father must now wait for us." He bowed his head at the Rohir. "The Peredhil give thanks, Men of Rohan. May your fallen comrades find peace in the halls of their fathers."

"Thank you, great Foe-Hammers, but I caution you: four of the Orcs were not the typical stock. They belong to that abominable race that walks during the day and looks like Men, disturbingly so. They are the Great Orcs, Uruk-hai they call themselves, but no matter the name, they are foul and twice as clever as their smaller kin. They are far more tenacious, too, and deadly. We recognized one of them, a beast that had cut down our friends during the War. The rest may or may not be his kin."

"All the same," said Elladan, "they cannot keep in this world for long. We shall slay whatever we find."

"Then with that, we pray that your Fair Lady keeps you safe, and we bid you a fond farewell."

"Fare well, lords of Rohan," replied the Elves, and they bid their steeds ride with the speeding winds toward Rivendell and any foe that dared to lurk near that haven.

* * *

Against Glorfindel's wishes, Norgash leapt from his bed, snarling and pacing in agitation, running his hands through his knotted hair.

"How the hell am I supposed to fight off all these buggers?" he growled. "I should've just let 'em all take me when they had the chance—and poor ol' Mauhúr—gar! He needn't get involved, tough as he is. Dunno why I didn't set him free sooner—"

"Will you… will you calm down?" Glorfindel begged firmly, dodging the Uruk as he paced about, trying to grab him and set him down. "The whole of Rivendell will hear you and—"

"Let them…" snapped Norgash, halting. "Let 'em have me—hear me snarlin' like the beast they think I am—_no_, that they _know_ I am!"

Glorfindel frowned, on the verge of glaring at the upset creature. "Are you finished? Huffing like an anxious child, bidding the entire world fall upon you and end you? Now sit—sit down!" he commanded, forcing the Uruk on the edge of the bed. "Listen to me! You are alive! You could have been left for dead or struck where you lay, but the warriors saved you. They _chose_ to save you, and that was no mean feat. Now I face great risks in defending you, just as you risked your life to save me. So swallow your forsaken Orkish pride, and heed me if you wish to keep drawing breath."

The Uruk frowned challengingly and slowly crossed his arms. He huffed through his nose and eventually relaxed, an ear perked towards Glorfindel.

"The reason you live yet is due to your knowledge of Sindarin. The Lords of Rivendell know not your origins, but you must convince them that you are no threat now.

"Now we must clean you and make you presentable. I shall find a habit that fits you, and you _shall_ walk and talk as if you are an elf."

"Great," groaned Norgash, and he sighed. "All right, what else?"

"You will not be able to wield a weapon of any kind; not even so much as a butter knife without arousing people's fear. You will also need an escort with you at all times."

Norgash's jade eyes widened. "_All_ times?"

The elf-lord nodded. "The reason is two-fold. I trust you, but my brothers are still wary. Likewise, I do not trust my brothers round you, no matter how harmless you are to them. Even young Dúlinion, who defended you in your unconscious state, cannot help you. Therefore and of course, I shall take responsibility over watching you."

"Even when I sleep?" asked the Uruk.

"Yes, of course."

The Uruk thought for a moment, smirking slowly and deviously. "Oh, _melindo_! But how do I know you won't slip me anything? Try to take advantage of me while I sleep? Oh, ravisher!"

Glorfindel smiled. He was indeed the same Norgash, as stubborn and humorous as ever.

Then the elf remarked, "As much as I enjoy your joking, Norgash, I must ask that you not refer to me as such before the ears and eyes of others. Even if you were not the creature that you are, such conduct between males is greatly discouraged by Elves. Brotherly kissing is permitted, but such acts of… bonding are forgivable only on the condition that Lords and Ladies have parted because of War, after which we must ritually clean ourselves."

"Harrumph! Well, you people certainly have had me fooled, way all you look alike until the trousers and the skirts come down."

Glorfindel chuckled. "Some men have said the same. Oh, and one other rule—do keep that vulgar humour to a minimum. Elves are not without our own form of bawdy talk, but we tend to reserve it for private conversations among very close friends."

"Ah, ah! Lemme guess," said Norgash. "_I_ ought to not use it at all, if I want to make a good impression. At least, not with anyone who ain't you, right?"

Glorfindel smiled brightly and leaned close to Norgash, their faces nearly touching. He grabbed his hand and said, "Come! I shall have a bath drawn and shall prepare your clothes. The Council of Elrond will announce its decision regarding you today, and I believe that you have the right to witness it."

"Sounds delightful," replied the Uruk with a roll of his eyes, and he clung tightly to Glorfindel for support, still aching as they walked through the halls.

* * *

Meanwhile, the company of the Peredhil rode swiftly north. As they had feared, the Men of Rohan had not been mistaken—Orc and Wolf tracks pointed in the deliberate direction of Imladris, one of the last havens for Elves on Middle-Earth.

"How bold!" said Elrohir with disgust, shaking his head. "The beasts have no respect for the boundaries of the Free Peoples, least of all Elves."

Then the company headed further until the tracks became muddled, as if a great battle had suddenly occurred. The charred remains of a lesser Orc lay on the ground, picked at only by the heartiest of scavengers. Several sets of tracks scattered toward the nearby forest and mountains, while one set headed toward Lord Elrond's realm.

"Whatever _it_ was," began Elrohir with disdain, "it would not have flown far. The warrior patrols of Rivendell are fierce, and even if the creature by some strange chance evaded them, our father's protective influence is far greater than some _yrch_."

"Then let us continue home," replied Elladan. "I feel confident that the beast received what it most deserved. We shall worry about the rest of his band in due time."

Elrohir nodded in cautious optimism, but the slightest inkling of uncertainty tugged at his spirit. Though cowards by nature, Orcs were wily, and like a cornered cat, a single Orc could prove very dangerous if confined during a pursuit. The Great Orcs were an even greater concern, for though they did not roam the night as adeptly as the lesser din, they had sharper wits and sharper skills than most of the smaller Orcs. If even one managed to escape within the boundaries of Rivendell…

Elrohir shook the woeful possibility from his head. "I pray that we not see them so soon," he whispered and urged his steed forward to join his band.

* * *

Norgash sat silently to one side as the Elves drew hot pales of water into the room. He watched them with lazy eyes, but neither race engaged the other in eye contact. Dúlinion stood by his side, though, silent at the bidding of Lord Glorfindel. "Norga—_Elenfëa_ has been through a most traumatic time," he had said. "You need not exhaust him with your host of questions."

Unfortunately, Dúlinion's questions danced on his young tongue like jubilant butterflies on summer's morn: "Whence came you? Who are your family? How many years have you? How many wars have you seen? How came you upon Lord Glorfindel in that forbidding land? How much Sindarin speak you? For how long? Were you once an elf?" and so on, so forth.

Of course, quite a number of elves desired to know more about Norgash, not that any dared confess it. Those who did vocalise their curiosity noted they were curious out of fear. Had Elves still been captured over the years and turned into Orcs? they wondered. Who among their kind had been captured by the traitorous wizard Saruman?

Before the young elf could break his vow of silence, Glorfindel appeared with new bandages, some salve, and clothes. The elves had finished filling the bath and adding healing ointments. They bowed as the prince-lord dismissed them. Then he set the items upon a table and approached Norgash.

"Dúlinion."

"Hm?"

"You may leave."

"Oh!" The elf awoke from his trance and stumbled to the door. "Oh! Wait, are you certain you need no help?"

"Thank you, my friend, but we are fine for the moment," and then he waved a dismissive hand. The young warrior bowed and shut the doors as he departed. Then the elder lord turned to his charge, smiled, and said in Sindarin, "I hope that he did not trouble you."

Norgash grunted and replied in Westron, "Oh yeah, little chatterbox, he was. What was this like, and what was that like? Blah, blah, blah…"

Glorfindel chuckled. "Just remember, Norgash: _pedo Sindarin minui_."

Norgash sighed and rose and began to strip. Glorfindel opened the windows in the meanwhile, letting in the warm morning air.

"The Council is still in session, apparently," he noted. "I can only hope that this is a sign of good—ah!"

As soon as the elf had rounded to glance at Norgash, he averted his gaze. The Uruk cocked his head and asked, "What is it? What?"

"I… I… That is to say…"

The Uruk snarled and placed his fists on his hips. "Don't tell me you're _that_ prudish. I'm sure you've seen another male's parts without jumpin' out of your skin."

"Of course!" Glorfindel squeaked at an octave higher than usual. "It is just that… well, you being an Uruk and all…"

"You people stripped me down yesterday—"

"I know, but—"

"—so don't tell me that I _doth_ _offend_—"

"It is just that you appear…" he stopped, peaking cautiously over his shoulder.

"Look what?"

"You look…" He murmured a third word.

"I look what?"

"You appear… arisd…" He murmured again.

"_What?_"

The prince-lord faced him and shouted, "Stimulated!" thereupon slapping his hands over his mouth.

Norgash raised both of his hairless eyebrows and glanced down. Then he gazed back at Glorfindel and asked, "You're kidding? Just 'cause I've got bigger bits?"

Glorfindel focused on the Uruk's jade eyes. He _tried_ to focus. Norgash's proportions certainly were not monstrous. Nevertheless, the elf could barely muster the ability to answer. Finally, the Uruk erupted into laughter. "The little Zanbaur's never seen big bits! Hahaha!"

The elf flushed brilliant scarlet. He was accustomed to seeing other males unclothed. Elves were modest but had no problem undressing before members of the same sex. However, he was unaccustomed to seeing anyone with such endowments! They were not ponderous, but they certainly were above average and rather well-formed for a creature such as him.

The Uruk continued to chuckle as he immersed himself in the hot and stinging healing water. He hissed and growled as he eased into the bath, sighing as he slowly relaxed.

When Glorfindel finally recovered, he picked up a tall vial and a small chair, setting it behind Norgash and sitting. He poured the oil into his hands and worked it into Norgash's hair. The Uruk groaned.

"Whatcha doing, Goldie?"

"Your hair is quite unruly," said Glorfindel, carefully untangling all the mats. "When last did you wash your hair?"

The Uruk snorted. "When _you_ go on the run, next time, you tell me how often you're able to get a little scrub."

The elf smiled and worked more oil into his hair. The Uruk sneezed several times and complained that the scent was too sweet for his Orkish liking. Glorfindel ignored him and rinsed his hair, moving onto his arms and cleaning the wounds.

"What about the one on my leg?"

"Which one?"

Norgash smirked and pointed. "The one on my thigh. That was quite the nasty arrow."

Glorfindel fought the inclination to blush and maintained as flat an expression as possible. "Lord Elrond will tend to that later. For now, let it alone. The arrow that struck you had been tipped with poison and nearly struck a vital artery."

"Really, eh?" he asked with a one-sided smirk.

Glorfindel looked directly in his eyes. He truly was not in the mood for Norgash's suggestive comments. He did not know if any eyes or ears were turned to them. He did not wish to take any chance of damaging the case in favour of Norgash.

Fortunately, the Uruk caught the message from those eyes. He sighed and leaned back further. "Fine, lad, I'll keep my dirty thoughts to myself. And if I do speak, _pedin Sindarin minui_."

Glorfindel smiled. _"Gen hannon, mellon nîn."_

* * *

**Glossary****: **_melindo_ (Sind.) love, lover.

_Gen hannon, mellon nîn_ (Sind.) Thank you, my friend.

**Chapter III Updated: **24 May, 2011. Thanks for reviewers for suggestions.

**Disclaimer: **The author, Danners, makes no claim over Tolkien's creations and makes no monetary gain from writing this fanfiction. However, original characters, including Norgash, are the intellectual property of Danners and may not be used without permission.


	4. Of Allies and Adversaries

**Chapter IV Of Allies and Adversaries**

His body scrubbed of grime, his wounds gently cleaned, Norgash listened carefully to his Elvish custodian while he redressed his injuries and assisted him with his clothes.

"Many at the Council are already set against you," said Glorfindel, "but one elf gives me greatest concern."

"Who's that?"

"He is Echanor," said Glorfindel, "a seasoned soldier and a member of the band that found you. He fought the hardest to leave you in that field to die—nay, he argued to kill you, even as you drew your final breath."

The Uruk snarled, "Fantastic."

Glorfindel frowned and paused. The Uruk raised a hairless eyebrow as the elf strode to the final vestment but did not yet retrieve it. Then Glorfindel rounded and marked, "Your outspoken-ness is precisely what Echanor needs to prove his point. You have already aroused trouble, Norgash of Isengard, without touching a sword. For though the time of Elves on Middle Earth has come to its end, your presence is Rivendell distresses all, even me."

At which point, Norgash frowned. Even his ears seemed to drop like those of downcast hound. Glorfindel smiled weakly in sympathy and delivered Norgash's outer vestment to him.

"You speak the tongue of Elves rather well for your kind," he marked, "but speech no more removes you from who you are and _what_ in the eyes of Elves. Not even Elessar can escape his fate. Nevertheless, your speech will aid you, but mannerisms even more. Your behaviour sets you apart, and your conduct must be sterling if you are to survive. If so much as the twinge of a sneer crosses your face, the warriors at the Council may end you."

Norgash rumbled in reluctant concession. "I understand. I'll behave… _more_ than usual." Then he made a sound of disgust

Glorfindel smirked and patted his charge on the shoulder. "I trust you, my friend," and at a relaxed pace, they walked to the awaiting council. While they walked, Glorfindel quietly continued to make notes:

"I cannot emphasise enough how armed the elves are. All but myself and Lord Elrond bare knives, and Echanor's archers await your slightest misstep."

The Uruk's ears perked up at the mention of the master of Rivendell. He asked, "Why doesn't a seasoned warrior like Lord Elrond carry a weapon? Thinks he can take an Uruk bare-handed? I wouldn't be surprised, though, if he could."

The elf chuckled. Then he replied, "In truth, he does not know that you are coming. None do, but Echanor—or some other—has sown the seed of rumour; that I would bring you. In truth, I had debated that with myself, and I feel you have every right to come to this council. Today they announce their judgment, but if Lord Elrond's heart has not completely hardened against you—and I am certain that it has not—then perhaps you can sway him."

Norgash stopped, looked Glorfindel in the eyes, and grinned. "You really are somethin' else, Moon Dagger," and he heartily patted his back.

As the pair approached the council, a growing commotion reached their ears. Attendants in the hall had seen them and rushed to alert their masters. Glorfindel whispered, "Remember all that I have said. If I know Echanor well, his archers may be secretly positioned and will slay you if they are impulsive enough."

Immediately, the Uruk shot him an alarmed expression, but Glorfindel wrapped his arm around his and continued to usher him forward.

"Echanor will speak naught but vile words against you to arouse your black humour. Pay no mind to his bile, and raise a hand to none."

The Uruk rumbled anxiously, but he could not turn back. The pair strode up the steps and entered the Council yard. The elves rose and stared in shock at Norgash's presence.

"My intuition proves as true as my marksmanship," said a silver-haired elf with sea-green eyes narrowed dangerously. "Glorfindel has brought the beast to the sacred Council of Lord Elrond. What is this, though?" He marched to the pair, scrutinising Norgash with all mustered disgust. "Lord Glorfindel, may he forever be blessed, has groomed this mange-ridden wolf and now parades him like a king's lap hound—"

"Echanor!"

The elf turned toward Lord Elrond, who cared not for the warrior's snide humour. He ordered him, "You shall sit, _gwador_ Echanor, and you shall listen, and you shall not speak until the lords of this Council allow you."

Without a word, the elf bowed and returned, but not before shooting at Norgash another bitter glance.

Then Elrond said, "_Gwador_ Glorfindel, please explain to us why you decided to allow _him_ here."

The elf and the Uruk approached the centre. Glorfindel replied, "Lord Elrond, I believe that Elenfëa has a right to hear the judgment rendered in regards to him. It, of course, affects him."

"Elenfëa?"

Glorfindel tensed as Echanor spoke.

"My lords, you cannot allow this… being to remain at this council. You cannot allow him to remain in Imladris—"

"Echanor, I have ordered you to be still," marked Elrond. "You shall obey that command, or you shall be escorted from the council for a third, unwarranted outburst."

The elf stiffened in his seat, his eyes gleaming. Then Elrond turned and addressed Glorfindel.

"As for you, Lord Glorfindel, be seated," and the golden-haired elf obeyed, leaving Norgash alone in the centre for all eyes to probe. Then Elrond addressed the Uruk in Sindarin:

"Elenfëa, know you why you have been brought here?"

The Uruk glanced at Glorfindel. He nodded at his charge, and Norgash replied in Sindarin, "Yes, Lord Elrond."

The Elvish lord raised an eyebrow. "You understand our tongue?"

"Yes, Lord."

"Lord Glorfindel gives you no hint as to reply?"

"No, Lord. I understand you enough," said Norgash.

The council awoke with murmuring. Echanor glanced at Erestor, eager to test the Uruk in more than one mean. The Chief sighed silently and waved a hand toward the silver-haired warrior.

"Lord Erestor gives brother Echanor permission to speak," said the Chief, "but mind your words carefully."

Then the silver-haired Elf rose and paced around his enemy. Norgash frowned, but kept his eyes well-connected with Elrond's grey eyes. The Uruk's mind volleyed through a host of Orkish curses, and he prayed to his black ancestors that one day, if he did not knock this Echanor bastard on his arse, some other lucky bloke would.

"If you so know the Fair Speech of Elves, answer to this: your parents were dogs, who brought only abominations into this world."

Elrond and Glorfindel frowned deeply, while the Elves waited in tension for Norgash's reaction. The Uruk clenched his fists heavily, for Saruman had taught him Elvish insults from the beginning, and he well-understood what had been uttered. If only he were back at Isengard, he thought, in the good, old days when you could strike a bastard for besmirching your blood. That to him and his kind was normal, but the Elves… Morgoth!

"Lord Elrond," began Norgash, "you surprise me. How does a kind host keep such poisonous company?"

Echanor's eyes lighted. The Elves chattered between themselves. Many were relieved that the Uruk has stayed his hand, and a few smirked at Echanor having been knocked down for his hot-blood mettle.

Lord Elrond was among those smiling. He ordered Echanor to return to his seat, and he said to Norgash, "You are a… frank being, Norgash Elenfëa. However, I must assure you that I would not have helped you if I, too, so disdained you."

The Uruk bowed.

"We have spoken with Captain Thorondel," began Elrond, "whose party brought you to Imladris. We have also spoken with Lord Glorfindel, whose life you saved and for that, we are grateful. Their stories intrigue and disturb us, and now we give you the opportunity to tell us your tale. How came you, Norgash Elenfëa, to know Sindarin?"

"Saruman taught me," replied the Uruk.

"Wherefore?"

Norgash paused and thought. "For the War. I guarded Elvish captives. I listened to them."

"Did you torture them?"

"No, I did not."

"How many Elves did Saruman's forces capture?" asked Erestor.

The Uruk paused, for his memory of Sindarin numbers was less than perfect. He hummed and eventually answered, "Ten and ten and ten and eight."

"Thirty-eight total?" asked Erestor in Westron. "Are you certain?"

The Uruk replied in Sindarin, "Yes, lord. This is true."

Chatter arose. The lords of the council stared hard as Glorfindel, who stared only at his charge. Then the lords glanced at one another before they resumed their interrogation.

Lord Elrond asked, "Saved you any?"

"How?" asked Norgash to the puzzlement of the Council.

"Helped you any escape?" asked Erestor.

The Uruk paused and glanced at Glorfindel. Norgash sighed and shook his head, praying that the damned Golug-hai did not stick him for his answer: "I killed those who suffered needlessly. I helped none to leave."

"Could not or _would_ not?" asked Echanor with a silver eyebrow raised.

Norgash rumbled before replying, "I _could_ not. I was an outcast. My people would have tortured me."

The lords glanced at one another, speaking soundlessly to one another, before Lord Elrond posed his final question.

"What reason have _you_, Norgash Elenfëa, to live?" he asked. "I forget not that you have saved Lord Glorfindel, who is a precious brother. He has told us your tale and why you are a sorrowful being. However, blood still stains your hands. The enemy taught and trained you all too thoroughly. Why do you believe that you should live?"

An apprehensive silence fell over the Council. The Uruk paused to carefully consider his words. His candid answer surprised every one: "I do not believe I should live, Lord Elrond, for I have lived a miserable life. However, _you_ are he who believes I should live."

Deep gasps punctured the silence. All eyes fell upon Lord Elrond, who raised both of his eyebrows in astounding.

"I?" he questioned. "Where came this conclusion?"

"If I were dangerous, Lord Elrond, if I were a monster, then you would not have healed me. You would not allow me into Rivendell, but you have. Surely I have some worth."

The elf-lords gazed at the head of the Council. He neither frowned nor smiled but marked, "Then I have made my decision, however wise or foolish it is. You may remain in Imladris, Norgash Elenfëa, so long as you cause no grief. We plan to depart for Grey Havens rather soon. You are welcome to remain in our company until that time.

"Know this. If you choose to journey alone from Imladris, then your life becomes your own. Even my words cannot stay that weapon that points angrily at you, and unless you take a trustworthy escort at all times within and without, I cannot with sensible conscience guarantee your safety. Do you understand?

The Uruk rumbled, somewhat crestfallen. So he was stuck there longer than he—and face it, most Elves—cared for; so it seemed. Norgash sighed and replied, "Yes, Lord Elrond, I understand. Thank you."

"Then I release you to the care of Lord Glorfindel," said Elrond. "I may call you later if any other curiosities arise." And finally, he dismissed the Council.

Glorfindel sighed in relief. He was aware of his friend's anxiety, but for the moment, they could rest with the blessing of Lord Elrond.

On the other hand, Echanor found the decree most unsavoury. He thrust himself out of his chair and stormed through the halls, two concerned warriors in tow.

The Lords of the Council dismissed the meeting, and Glorfindel joined the Uruk's side. He lifted his friend from his chair and silently escorted him back to his chamber. There, the Uruk sat slumped on the edge of his bed, staring wide-eyed and blankly at the world.

"Trapped," he muttered. "I'm a bloody prisoner. I'm a bloody prisoner! I take one sneeze, and the lot of you are gonna stick me. I'm bleedin' stuck here."

Glorfindel sighed and shook his head. "Be grateful. The worst has not befallen you."

"Because the worst is yet to come," growled the Uruk. "First of all, not all the boys got whacked. That Mordor fellow'll track me down, no matter what it takes. The horse-boys are getting reinforcements. And the Foe-Hammers are not long off from here. What will we do then?"

Glorfindel sat beside his charge and said, "Lord Elrond shall handle the twins. When they arrive, you shall remain by my side, and _never_ speak in their presence."

"Ever? Not even in Sindarin?"

"Especially Sindarin," replied Glorfindel firmly. "After all that their mother, fair Lady Celebrían, suffered, they will perceive that you are debasing the tongue, thereby further debasing their heritage."

The Uruk groaned in Orkish and leaned wearily against Glorfindel. The elf embraced him, when suddenly, someone knocked at the doors.

"It is Dúlinion. May I enter?"

"Yes," replied Glorfindel. Then he rose and held Norgash's face with both hands. "Be thankful, my friend. Be thankful."

Dúlinion entered, and Glorfindel offered him a chair. The younger elf declined and noticed the forlorn Norgash. He sat beside him and asked the elder lord, "Why weeps he?"

"He cannot return home," said the golden-haired elf, "for he would forfeit his life."

Dúlinion nodded and leaned close to the Uruk, stroking that tamed mane. Norgash glanced at the young Elf and smirked.

"I am sorry, Elenfëa," said Dúlinion, "for a little evil has come out of some good."

"Humph!" Glorfindel leaned against the doors. "It is not evil but an inconvenience. We need to help Norgash find his Warg, Mauhúr, and sneak them as swiftly away from Elvish lands as possible."

Dúlinion glanced at Norgash with wide eyes. "A Warg? As big as the Hound of Beren?"

Norgash smirked and chuckled. "No hound, young Elf, a wolf. A Warg is a spirit that has taken the form of a wolf but stands nearly as tall as a horse. Many Wargs fear the light, like Orcs, but Mauhúr is made of stronger fibre, like me."

"He was your mount of which you spoke in the field."

Norgash cocked his head. "He is."

The young Elf carried on in excitement. "You truly are Elenfëa! Elf-friend and saviour of our Lord Glorfindel. How thrilling! Oh, but I fear we found no Warg tracks during our patrol. Perhaps Captain Thorondel will help you. He enjoyed your reply to Echanor's insult. Elbereth Githoniel love him, but that warrior looks at life too seriously. He has grown very bitter over the years, nursing a black hatred for this land."

Norgash rumbled. To hell with empathy!

"Then… I can…" He struggled with his words. "I cannot say I do not know how he feels. He and I are more alike than he _or_ I would care to admit. Middle-Earth is a painful land, but it is also a land where one might receive another chance to be."

Glorfindel smiled warmly. Then he strolled to Dúlinion and took one of his hands. He said, "I think we ought to allow Norgash more rest, my young friend. These latest days are a tempest to him, and he needs further healing."

"Of course," replied Dúlinion as he joined his elder. Then he turned to Norgash and remarked, "Remember, Thorondel and I will to help you. You need only ask."

The Uruk bowed his head, and the elves departed. Norgash sighed and slowly reclined, a hand on his forehead. He said, "Oi, Norgi, amut glu-ishi tibualat…"

* * *

Stars punctured the midnight indigo. Camp fires, which roasted flesh for supper, flickered beneath them, competing with their brilliance. Supper was nearly finished, but the child had run off again. His exasperated mother groaned and rose from her spot, grabbing a torch and calling her son's name.

The boy was far too occupied, his head again in the clouds—or rather, his head again in the stars. Most of the others did not care for them, but stars intrigued him. He saw shapes, constant except when the seasons changed. How had they gotten up there? he wondered. Were they as close as the Sun and the Moon or much, much further? Were they made of adamant, and what lit them so if that were the case?

"_Norgash! Norgash, mallat?"_

In his trance, the young Uruk did not hear his mother. He heard only the faint sounds of the mountain forests and the faint commotion of the nearby tribe.

"_Norgash? Norgash! Murtz krampuglat?"_

The young Uruk glanced up at the female with her heavy, bare chest, a torch in one hand while the other hand sat on her cocked hip. The youngster turned round, still seated, as his mother scolded him: _"Bauz-bo nar! Honuglat ilzu-or urzkû?"_

"_Akhothlob,"_ he replied, at which the female sighed.

"I don't know what to do with you any more, _norgâz'zub_," and she turned and began to march home from the hill.

The young Uruk rose and followed his mother, stumbling over rocks in the darkness, until they reached their campfire. There sat eight other females, three males, and five lesser Orcs. The deer, which his mother had caught, had finished roasting, and their Snaga had saved it from over-cooking and from the hungry mouths of others.

"Well, have your fill," she said to her son. "Don't know why I should let you have any, though. I should throttle you for wandering off again, but you are a queer one, Norgash. A thorough beating might not work on you." Then she cleaved off one of the hind legs and handed it to her son.

"_Akhothlob_," he said, and he easily ripped the flesh from the bone with his sharp teeth. As he slurped on his meal, Norgash said to his mother, "Hey, ma'am, what's all this talk of war? Are we gonna be fighting other tribes?"

As soon as she swallowed her bit of the deer's liver, she replied, "Not Orcs, lad, but Men, Dwarves, and Elves."

Excitement suddenly glimmered in Norgash's eyes. "We get to fight Golug-hai, ma'am? You really mean it?"

The female smirked and said, "Oh yes, if we're lucky. People always say that Orcs are a mean lot, but I tell you in soothe, Elves are a hell of a lot meaner." Then she pointed up and said, "They keep the secret of the Lights to themselves. They won't share the secret with another soul, and they especially hate Orcs for trying to sneak it."

Norgash cocked his head. "But I thought we hate the Light, ma'am."

The female snorted. "Snaga-hai do, but Uruk-hai fear nothing. We who are shamans have tried to reclaim that secret, for we once shared it with the Elves. But," she sighed as she ripped off another sliver of the liver, "we lost the Light when the Dark One and His Fiery Apprentice appeared.

"I tell you, lad," she continued, "you only fear that which is more powerful than you, and the Light is powerful stuff. But if you wield that power, lad, then—oh, ho! Then…" she remarked as she touched her forehead with one finger.

Norgash's eyes were widened by curiosity. His mother and the other Uruk-hai around them belonged to a very special group of shamans. Many Orcs did not rely heavily upon such figures, for in this Age, many of them seemed to be frauds. However, a few priests and priestesses throughout Middle Earth wielded a genuinely powerful craft, able to tap their Dark Lords as their sources.

The best test used to sniff out true shamans was known as the Divine Glimpse, a test which thus far only Uruk shamans—and a scant lot, too—seemed to pass. For although all shamans derived their power from dark beings, those with the Divine Glimpse experienced fleeting visions of the white magick that belonged to the Elves and their divinities. The glimpses burned painfully but also seemed to beckon to initiates.

"Do you think we'll finally learn the secret of the Light?" asked Norgash. "Do you think we'll be as powerful as the Golug-hai?"

The female shaman drank her draught and shrugged. "Who can say?" she said. "I don't know much about this war, except that the Fiery One wants to start it. If we do win it, though, maybe, but I make no guarantee. He and His Master, though they walk in darkness, also know what the Light is. They, too, hide the secret from us, and they are as stubborn and greedy as the Elves.

"Knowledge, young Norgash, once lost might not meant to be found. And so it is easier to hate that which you cannot have. This is why the Snaga-hai hate the Light, but Uruk-hai—we are stubborn. We Uruk-hai fight until we die or until we claim that which should be ours."

* * *

**Glossary:** _Golug-hai_ (Bl. Sp.) Elvish race.

_Amut glu-ishi tibualat_ (Bl. Sp.) What trouble have you gotten yourself into? Literally, 'what piss you swim in?

_Mallat? _(Bl. Sp.) Where [are] you?

_Murtz__ krampuglat?_ (Bl. Sp.) What are you doing?

_Bauzbo nar! Honug__lat ilzu-or urzkû?_ (Bl. Sp.) Don't run off! (lit. Don't shoot off). [You] looking at stars again?

_Akhothlob_ (Bl. Sp.) yes, ma'am.

_norgâz'__zub_ (Bl. Sp. Isengard) my little lynx.

**Footnotes****: **_Moon Dagger_—from _Foul Dips Into Fair_. Norgash's name for Glorfindel when they first meet; for the prince-lord was not inclined to reveal himself immediately in his company.

_the Dark One and His Fiery Apprentice_—euphemisms for Morgoth and Sauron respectively.

**Chapter IV Update: **24 May, 2011. Thanks for reviewer suggestions.

**Disclaimer: **The author, Danners, makes no claim over Tolkien's creations and makes no monetary gain from writing this fanfiction. However, original characters, including Norgash, are the intellectual property of Danners and may not be used without permission.


	5. Of Foul Moods and Fretful Meetings

**Chapter 5 Of Foul Moods and Fretful Meetings**

Many orcs had agreed that Morlâzg had enough patience for their entire race and maybe some more. Sometimes that was in a soldier's favour. If a lad did something stupid, old Morlâzg yelled at him just like the other bosses did, but he often lost interest in verbal fights rather quickly. His mind tended to wander, and instead of striking most lads, he would let them off gently—strangely gently. And a little more often than not, a soldier's luck would turn to shit down the road.

Morlâzg had become infamous in Mordor for letting lads dangle. If a soldier thought he could just slither away to a dark, dank, safe corner, he was definitely out of his wits. Only the greatest fools tried Morlâzg's patience, and even fewer escaped their eventual punishments. Even from miles away, 'accidents' did happen, even to those who ranked close to or as high as Morlâzg. Rumours would spread that the captain had had a hand in it, and he neither denied nor confirmed that he did.

Nonetheless, like any member of the Orkish races, Morlâzg had no qualms about cutting down a lad immediately, if he felt the need. Put succinctly, Morlâzg had been an efficient and competent captain, but he had also been unpredictable, making him one of the most dangerous and feared Orcs.

"Oi! Yarri hoi!"

Peering from the shadows of the heavy brush, Morlâzg rumbled as the scout cried out to his party. With a grunt, he shoved one of the lesser orcs out into the open to the check the scene. The lesser orc stalked carefully to his companion. When he reached the scout intact, the scout cried, "It's all clear for now! But look at this 'ere, Captain."

The rest of the party slowly emerged from their holes and the bushes, weapons drawn, with Morlâzg and a stout orc bringing up the rear. They stood round their comrades at the rocky bottom, littered with leaves and other detritus. Morlâzg strode toward the scout, eyeing his every twitch, hop, point, and pantomime.

"The bloke's been this way," he chattered quickly as he moved in his naturally wild manner. "Make no mistake about that. Lucky for us, them old 'orse-boys didn't slash off old Akasht's sniffer," he said, patting the injured Warg's dripping nose. "These prints aren't gettin' any younger, though. And it don't help that the Golug-hai and straw-heads are on our trail."

The particularly stout orc beside Morlâzg rumbled. "We made the straw-heads think twice about playing around," he said, squinting and shielding his eyes from the sun. "They aren't coming this way, especially in _their_ woods."

Morlâzg rumbled deeply and paced round the barely visible paw prints. He followed slowly and stopped, his eyes following the fading prints toward the north. Then he growled and swung his sword violently into a tree, cleaving a harsh wound into its thick trunk. His company immediately gave him plenty of space, out of the angry path of his sword.

"That pig has a death wish," growled Morlâzg. "He knew precisely what he was doing. He'll have plenty of explaining to do when I get a hold of him—that is, even if I let him wag his pig tongue." Then he paced and stomped, growling and hissing bitterly.

While most of the orcs cringed to speak, the stocky one snorted. "Gar, Morlâzg! 'When' you get him? _'When_?' Are you out of your wits? The bastard's probably dead by now—skinned by Golug scum. You want to risk neck of each lad in this company over a corpse?"

"Several of my boys were cut down," rumbled Morlâzg, turning an evil eye toward the stout orc. "And you want me to hop away, tail between my legs? Have you no balls?

"Haven't you a brain, shit wits?" snarled the stout orc; for even though he belonged to the lesser Orcs, he did not consider himself inferior or easy to intimidate. He was large enough and experienced enough to stand and stare Morlâzg straight in the eyes. Then he continued: "Get over it, Morlâzg! This isn't the goddamned War any more—nobody to support your authority as a captain. And anyhow, what if _they_ did take him prisoner? Ya think you can shuffle up to any Golug camp, all jovial, and ask, 'Excuse me, may I have his arse on spit, pretty please?' They'll take you too and string you up or worse."

The Uruk snarled back at him and cursed again, looming over the orc, who moved one claw to the hilt of his blade. However, no fight broke out, and instead Morlâzg rumbled in frustration. He sheathed his sword and said:

"Those stinking _rûkkurv _will return, even if it means journeying many miles out of their lands. They get along with Elves just enougg to help them the moment they mention _orc-hunting_."

At the terrifying mention, the lesser orcs shuddered, while the two other Uruks sneered and growled. Morlâzg turned and addressed the band: "If there is a rat here who feels satisfied to crawl into some rotten hole, be my guest. Cowards need no longer run with my company, for I have purpose again and intended to fulfil it. You want to live out your days hiding from Men and the last Golug spawn? You'll never know any rest, and this bastard here," he said, pointing at the stout orc, "wants to settle down somewhere. Settle—pah!

"I say, lads, if our time has come to depart, then I'm not to leave this world without one tough bitch of a fight. My instincts have rarely been wrong, and I say that that prick we shot is still clinging to life by the skin of his teeth. We'll march into Elf land—yes, we will, you snivelling Snaga scum!" he growled as one of the lesser orcs dared to protest. "We'll take our prize and kill a few good Star-gazers as well. And if we don't make it out, then we'll give those Golug bastards one hell of a fight to remember."

The two Uruks, who had been starved of battle for nearly two years, grinned and nodded heartedly, their eyes gleaming with malice and bloodlust. Uruk-hai had a stomach for battle that far surpassed their lesser kin, who were more prone to cowardice and flight. In the shadows, Orcs were ferocious, not at all to be taken lightly; but night or day, moon or sun, fair weather or storm, the Uruk-hai's thirst for glorious battle fuelled their existence.

The stout orc glanced at his lads, who were hiding in what little shade they could find. They made no protest and seemed ambivalent about their task. The orc growled.

"Damn you, Morlâzg," he said. "You've got about as much sense as that Shagrat fool, who caused that fucking riot, all over some stupid-arse piece of chainmail. And I, Morpilik, say this: you are going to get us turned inside out like a pack of damned foxes! So seven of your boys got cut down? So what? They were Isengarders anyway, and two of my lads—lads who actually _my lads_—were cut down by _rûkkurv_. They nearly took out Gorpugh here, nearly sliced off our Warg's nose, and about flayed the rest of us. And you wanna march up to the Elves' doors—the Elves? Suicide may be a great Uruk hobby, but _we_ aren't going to make it our living."

Suddenly, the orc found his self shoved savagely against a tree. The Uruk had no trouble lifting him off his feet, and Morlâzg growled, "You either follow me or I stick you and anyone of your boys that starts complaining." Then he threw him to the ground and roared, "We walk day and night north. We make for the Loud River where the Elf-Witch Lord dwells, and we'll keep our head as we do it. I want the wolf in front, and you five to keep in line behind him and in front of me. I don't trust you lads, not as far I could kick off your heads.

"Now get moving, you rats! We walk until I say you maggots can stop. Move, move!"

* * *

Not far from Morlâzg's hunting band, another being also fumed over Norgash's existence. In a great fury, the silver-haired warrior Echanor had stormed from the council called by Lord Elrond. The _yrch_ had been spared—an _yrch_! Of all the foul beings that by great misfortune wandered upon Middle-Earth! The worst of it—oh, what was the worst of it? The fact that two elf-lords, two wise lords who had personally experienced the evil of the Orcs, had vouchsafed for _its_ safety? The fact that _it_ wore Elvish garb and—Elbereth Gilthoniel forbid!—spoke their fair language? _It_ spoke Sindarin! Oh, misery!

"Echanor! Gwador Echanor, wait!" cried two elves who had followed him from the council. "Go not in anger. Please wait for us!"

The elder warrior stopped abruptly, his pallid fists trembling in frustration. How could they have forgotten: Lord Elrond of the agony of Lady Celebrían and the senseless slaughter of her party? Lord Glorfindel of the many battles and torments he had seen in one lifetime, let alone—

"Echanor?"

The Elf rounded suddenly when a brotherly hand rested on his shoulder. Mithdorel and Glirgwaen gazed at their comrade with eyebrows solemnly knitted together. Echanor sighed and shook his head.

"Forgive me," he replied. "I know not what evil came upon me. I know not what evil has befallen this place. I have prayed for many days that darkness as we have known it had departed from these lands, yet that… creature has somehow managed to fool Lord Elrond."

"The decision seems rather out of sorts," agreed Mithdorel, "but I must confess, this… _uruk_ as he calls himself intrigues me as much as he worries me."

"What if it is true?" wondered Glirgwaen. "Perhaps this Norgash creature is a cursed soul."

Echanor scowled. "They are all cursed, gwador Glirgwaen. No matter the names they bear, all Orcs are foul and hateful. I do not believe for certain that, as tale tells, they were once Elves, ruined by the Fallen Lord. If it is true, then he did not scar them merely on the surface.

"My comrades among Men, who have received severe wounds, will some years later produce children. Yet their children do not bear their father's scars; it cannot be passed. No, the Dark Lord altered Elves down to their very essence, so that even as they multiplied, the offspring of Orcs would never resemble their fair ancestors. Worse still, their _fëar_ were forever sundered, so that their offspring would never behave civil or kind."

"That must have taken dark magic indeed to commit such a crime," marked Mithdorel.

"And this is why Orcs hate us," said Echanor. "They have forever lost that which is beautiful and fair and good. Men may envy us, but Orcs hate us with a terrible passion because they can _never_ go back to the Light."

"But Elenfëa—"

"Have you heard nothing?" cried Echanor. "It can never go back to what Orcs once were! It is a deceiver! That vile thing does not don the fair appearance of Annatar, but it is just as clever, just as beguiling as once was Sauron to the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. It has already begun to create discord between the last folk in Imladris, causing us to feud among ourselves. Greater ruin lies in its heart, and its full intentions can be seen only in time, and I will not give it so much as a moment."

"You have heard Lord Elrond," said Mithdorel. "None here may touch him. What intend you, if you may not expel him?"

Echanor sighed and ran his fingers through his silver mane. "I know not."

"Then if you can stomach the wait, let Elladan and Elrohir deal justice to the Uruk. Surely they can clear Lord Elrond's mind, hearken back to the crime against Lady Celebrían. You must let Patience prevail, Echanor. Do not let fervent vengeance cause you to act rashly; for tragedy follows those people overcome by their heart."

Exhaustion had dimmed Echanor's face. The longer that _yrch_ remained, the more likely that Imladris might be betrayed. As much as Orcs loathed people, even their own kind, they knew their survival depended upon travelling in packs, like starving wolves that resisted turning on one another. He did not know who had injured the creature or how it had managed to come so close to the elves. He cared only about the safety of his people, and that thing, not matter how it dressed, spoke, smelled, or acted was no Elf.

It had no honour. It owed them no fealty.

"If you shall stand as tall pillars to me," sighed Echanor, "then I will stay my sword. We shall watch for the brothers' arrival and inform them of all that has transpired."

"Very well," said his comrades. Therefore, they dwelled outside of Imladris, as long as the Uruk dwelled within. They carefully watched the road for hours, and in a few days, Echanor's prayers were answered.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Elenfëa."

The Uruk snorted and rolled onto his back. Right after the council had been dismissed, Norgash had fallen into another exhaustion-induced slumber. The biggest problems with his sudden episodes of sleep were the dreams. He had experienced similar visions after parting with Glorfindel, but the realness of them had increased since arriving at Rivendell.

_Considering that these dreams are actually memories,_ he thought, _it only makes sense_.

Why him? he asked himself again. What a bloody, bloody mess—

"Elenfëa?"

The Uruk glanced at the edge of the bed, where sat young Dúlinion.

"Are you well?" asked the elf.

Norgash groaned and then replied, "I have been better. What time is it?"

"It is four hours after noon," replied Dúlinion. "You have slept long, my friend. Lord Glorfindel had locked your doors for your protection. Now you must rise. He summons you to another council, one more private."

The Uruk rose. Perfect, he thought, more bad news. Maybe the elves really were going to parade him about like a captive before finally introducing his neck to the noose.

"Why?" he asked.

"Please, follow me," replied Dúlinion as he slipped off the bed and stood by the doors.

Norgash joined him and followed him down corridors, which had during those last two years become more and more quiet. The few elves that did linger stepped aside or hastened their pace, glancing quickly at Norgash as they passed. Though he was supposed to remain safe, the word of Elrond did not obligate elves to mingle with the Uruk. No matter what he did, he would always remain an outsider.

"I would have enjoyed to sit in on this council," marked Dúlinion, "but alas! Only the lords of Imladris are permitted within the chamber. They wish to learn more about you, I have heard, things that they do not want others to hear, save if they wish to put your life in peril."

_Crap_, Norgash cursed. He could not dodge any questions, show no hesitation, and tell no lies—not that he had stretched the truth at the earlier council. On the other hand, he should be somewhat thankful for the intimacy.

_Yeah, so that way, nobody sees what they do to me_, he thought darkly.

"We are come!" said Dúlinion as they arrived before a great entrance.

Two great wooden doors stood within the hillside. One row of seven windows sat on either side of the door, and these windows perhaps were the only sources of light. The young elf knocked on the entrance what must have been a code, and one of the doors opened without a sound.

"I may no longer follow you," said Dúlinion, "but may the luck I grant you accompany you," and he walked hastily away.

Norgash peered inside the dimly lit hall. He spied the dance of candlelight within and recognised certain elf-lords. The Uruk slipped inside, and when the door shut, he rounded in alarm. There stood Glorfindel, his golden hair tied in a braid. He wore the robes of a councillor and upon his head a crown of spring leaves. The elf smiled at him and asked Norgash to follow. The Uruk obeyed and was led to a round table, where stood seven chairs and sat thus far six elf-lords. Elrond and Erestor were there, as was Thorondel. As soon as Glorfindel showed Norgash to his chair, he took the empty seat on Elrond's left side, sitting as tall and majestic as the others.

Never did Norgash in his life admit to being afraid. If fear existed in Uruk-hai, they channelled it into fight instead of flight usually. When he fled from that Mordor bloke and his company, it was because he could no longer defend himself. And when they cornered him, he managed to give that jittery, Warg-riding back-stabber and his sickly mount a run for their lives, let alone the others. When the Ents marched on Isengard, he had finally realised that all the events leading up to the siege, including Dimelda's death, were signs that his time with the Enemy had passed. He had needed to make a new life for himself, and so, not of fear but out of realisation he fled.

Finally in his life, he would have admitted to genuine fear there and then. The elf-lords sat in a manner that nearly encircled and consumed him, and he feared for himself. He had no control in that chamber.

Lord Elrond spoke first: "I had said at the Council this morning that I may call you at any time if anyone should have a pressing curiosity about you. Our first meeting served to allay some of the fears that elves have about you. This second meeting serves to confirm them."

If it was possible for an Uruk to blanch, Norgash might have just about done it.

"Tell me," said Norgash, nearly stuttering, "what mean you, lord?"

"We wish to know your tale, Elenfëa," said Erestor, "as full as you can fill our ears."

"Or should we say _Norgash_?" marked Elrond.

Norgash cleared his throat. "As you will… lords."

"Very well," said Elrond. "Norgash, we must know how you came to being. Were you an Elf, or do you merely believe your own story?"

The Uruk carefully searched for his reply. "I fear, lords, my tale is strange, even to me. I do not know Sindarin enough to describe my life."

"Then you are free to speak Westron here," said Erestor. "We have all had enough dealings with the outside to understand you. If you are more comfortable with Common Speech, we shall allow it, as long as you speak cleanly and clearly."

The Uruk looked at Glorfindel apprehensively. The prince-lord nodded: this was no elf trick. Norgash sighed and spoke in Common: "Thank you, lords. I'm relieved. My memory is not what it once was. I've no one with whom to practice Elvish in the wild, if you care to believe."

"And so we do," replied Glorfindel.

Norgash smirked.

"That is unfortunate to hear," said Elrond. "Let us hope that the memories of your life reach much further. How far down can you dig into your past? Who were you, and how came you into Saruman's service? For what ends did he intend you, and why have you apparently renounced the Enemy?"

"What compelled you to save our brother Glorfindel?" asked Erestor. "Why did you journey to Rivendell, if you knew that such a journey would mean your death?"

Norgash sighed and closed his eyes. He began to dig deeply into the mountainous memories, dark, hot, and cavernous. Eventually, he spoke, not as he was inclined to speak, but as if a spirit had possessed him and refined his tongue. He enthralled each ear in that private chamber with his tale:

"I have lived a long life, lords, compared to most members of my ruined race. To give you every detail of my story, you would hear the gruesome and the ghastly. Surely as seasoned as you all are, these are aspects of life you have sought to avoid, especially in this joyous house. And even if you were at all curious, I know that your time in this world wanes. Only in the impossibility that I could follow you to the Undying Lands, where time is unknown, could I tell you everything. So I shall spare you, and tell you what is best to hear now.

"I was born in this body Norgash, son of Karkarg who was the High Shaman of the Lightning Shamans, named because we believed that our powers were greatest when we danced in the midst of tempests. My clan travelled out of Mordor as soon as Uruk-hai became an individual race, and we settled near Isengard. I do not know my father, as is with most Orcs, but I know that he must have been a great warrior, for shamans did not mix their blood with lowly soldiers or slaves.

"My comrades were few, for I was too keen and followed orders too well. Great captains and lieutenants called me friend, but I rarely had the pleasure… that is, the opportunity," he said, "to fight alongside them.

"For a warrior, I was above average, but that was not my singular station. I focused on becoming a High Shaman and had come very close to attaining such a powerful title. Before I could finish my training and initiation, Saruman approached my clan, my mother and me. He knew that some among us had the Divine Glimpse, a gift—and a curse—that distinguishes frauds from true priests. My people told Saruman that I had had visions, and he called my mother to him. He asked, she replied, and soon he summoned me to Orthanc. He had learned that I used to gaze up at the stars as a child. He had learned that I had indeed glanced at the Light of Ainur in the Divine Glimpse, and for days my mind would burn thereafter. He had learned I was interested in reclaiming the Secret of the Light through any means possible. Therefore Saruman propositioned me:

" 'You are a pale sheep among a flock of black coats,' he had said. 'You have no white in your wool, that is for certain, but you are a paler colour than most, and for it you are special to me. Do you truly wish to learn the Secret of the Light, Norgash?'

" 'Yes, my lord,' I said, 'with all my heart of mind.'

"He sneered. 'Certainly an Orc, even one as great as you, can no longer reclaim that which was lost.'

" 'I am nigh a High Shaman of the Lightning Shamans of the Uruk-hai. I am no charlatan, and I will not settle to be some petty conjurer, a mere practitioner of sleight-of-hand. Even the Dark Lords have known the Light—why not Their followers? Why not I, an Uruk? I am more than worthy to know and by any means.'

"Saruman smiled at me in satisfaction. He struck the deal with me: 'Therefore I shall teach you, young one, the fair tongue of Sindarin and the forbidden language of Quenya. I shall teach you about your erstwhile cousins and the Unseen Powers. Know this: you shall not keep your training to yourself. It will serve the ends of your lords until you pass from this world.'

"I agreed. I fought my born-and-trained hatred of Elves to learn more about them. I hoped that if I finally learned the ancient tongues, I might finally understand what _they_ had told me all along."

"Who told you what?" asked Elrond.

"The voices," replied Norgash. "The voices I often heard when I fell into the Divine Glimpse. I never remembered what they were saying—even what language they spoke. Mostly, I could not concentrate because the Light burned me. I thought that if I learned the language of the Elves, and if the voices were speaking some form of Elvish, I might finally understand.

" 'Perhaps they are reciting the Secret of the Light,' I thought. Therefore, I embraced Saruman's lessons; all the while, he used me to translate the words of Elvish captives. They never suspected in a hundred Ages that an Orc could understand them! Saruman's plan worked to his full gratification."

A chilling pause descended over the chamber. The elves gazed at Norgash with hard, uneasy eyes, but in his trance, the Uruk did not flinch. The spirit that had overcome Norgash had given him resolve among who should have been his enemies, his destroyers.

Meanwhile, across from Norgash, Glorfindel sifted through the narrative. Elements rang like familiar bells in the halls of the prince-lord's memory. He recalled the tale of a dying elf, who had also heard voices on the edge between the world of the living and the world of the _fëar_. With his suspicion in mind, Glorfindel asked:

"Norgash, if I may draw you elsewhere, tell me again and tell the lords about the journal."

The Uruk raised a hairless eyebrow. "Journal?"

"The journal that you have shown me," said Glorfindel, "written by the unknown elf."

Ah yes, the book of Mormirion, the elf whom had perished centuries ago in that unknown city up north… Norgash had lost the journal when he and Mauhúr parted ways to evade harm. He did not remember all that he had read, but he knew the ill tone well enough.

"The book of Mormirion I have since lost," marked Norgash. "No one in your party reported any rucksack nearby, lord? Any journal?"

"No," replied Thorondel. "We found only a sheath without a sword."

"Then it is lost," said Norgash, and he sighed. "But I shall tell you what I can. When the Uruk-hai marched to Helm's Deep and did not return, after the Ents besieged Isengard, I saw these and other signs marking that my time had come to decide: to remain with the Enemy and perish, or to shoulder the shame of fleeing into the wild, an outlaw among Free People and the dark forces. I chose to leave because I could no longer bear the burden of living between worlds: seeking out the Light while forever trapped in darkness.

"In secret I took a Warg and called him Mauhúr after an old friend and cavalry captain. We journeyed as far north as the roads would take us, until we reached a foreboding city, forever consumed by the forest and the mists. By chance, I found a journey, written in the Forbidden Tongue of the Noldor. The elf author had written dark premonitions, foretelling the doom of his city. His people had tried to build a secret fortress to rival Gondolin, but alas, they too were betrayed, partly because of their arrogance. The elf wrote most terrible thoughts about his people, and though he did not confess to the crime of Maeglin, I believe that he nevertheless performed a grave oath."

At the mention of the sad tale of Gondolin, the air thickened with tension. Not an eye wavered. No one cleared his throat. The harsh focus of the elf-lords had been broken, eyes wide with apprehension. However, no one stopped Norgash from speaking.

"The place reeked of death and woe," he continued, "and so I departed swiftly with the journal in hand. I hoped it would fetch a fine price, War or not, but I never took time to find a buyer.

"In time, I returned south and discovered that the War had ended. For two years, I hid in the shadows, causing harm to none but never interfering with criminals. I resolved to live my life in solitude, save Mauhúr with whom I could speak in Orkish. We decided that we wished to settle in some veiled corner of any forest, free of Elves, Men, spiders, wild wargs, and any other competitors. By chance, we crossed paths with a band of Isengard Uruk-hai, and at first, I was elated.

" 'My people are still alive,' I thought, hoping that by even better chance, they were lads with whom I had had a previous relationship. Then as I drew closer, I stopped. They had taken an Elvish captive and planned to do evil to him. Suddenly, I could not approach them."

"Wherefore?" asked Erestor.

"You do not simply walk up to Orcs when they make sport. They value their property—_perceived _property—highly and will show you violence if you do not leave them alone."

"Then why did you not allow them to torment Glorfindel?" asked Elrond.

Norgash paused and looked into the prince-lord's clear eyes. The Uruk never shifted his gaze as he replied, "I don't know. To be honest, that is. But it didn't feel right, somehow, if that makes any sense. It made no sense to me at the time, but as I look back on it now…" He stopped to smirk and chuckled low to himself. "…it didn't feel right seeing one of my own be tortured."

All save Glorfindel glanced to one another. Norgash's words were like birds, darting quickly out the corners of their eyes, confusing their senses and thoughts. Then Erestor begged pardon and asked the Uruk to repeat, "Did you say one of _your_ kind?"

"Yes," said the Uruk.

"Whom?"

The Uruk grinned smugly. "Glorfindel."

Speech was robbed from the elf-lords. An Orc—an _Uruk_ had called an Elf his brother—his brother! Neither race would ever joke about such a relationship, for the hatred between them ran so deeply, to compare one to the other was a grave insult.

However, not in that moment; convention had been put to the sword since Norgash had arrived. To the elf-lords, the Uruk seemed convinced that he had once been an Elf.

Norgash sighed in relief. He finally spoke in the manner fitting to his tongue, and said, "To tell truth, lords, I can't say what I was with one hundred percent certainty. But Glorfindel can. He knows—and I'm sure fair Elbereth up there knows—that as Mormirion, I'd take back all the curses uttered, all the slander and libel. Would have saved me a lot of trouble just to take it like a real Elf and just go to the Halls of Mandos, 'stead of makin' a scene like a cowardly Man. But of course, we can't take back the past, now can we?"

Elrond slowly shook his head. "I suppose we cannot, Norgash."

"Right. Not that I care much for being an Uruk, lords, but I wouldn't want to be an Elf again. All that sorrow and tragedy and slow change just isn't my nightly draught. At least being an Uruk, brutality doesn't stun me like it does Elves, but it still isn't all that pretty. Truth be told, I just want to live among like-minded, peace-lovin' folk that keep their business to themselves. Course, they're few and far."

"Perhaps not," marked Glorfindel. "Although, I do not know how well Halflings would tolerate your presence."

Norgash shrugged. "All the same, my lord. Much as I love it here, I'd rather be elsewhere, living my last years in peace and quiet, except those Mordor rats shot me up."

Before Glorfindel could silence him, the Uruk had revealed the truth behind his journey to Imladris. The prince-lord blanched and peered cautiously at Lord Elrond.

"Ah, yes, your reason for coming to Rivendell," he began, at which Norgash suddenly tensed. "What has come out of Mordor to follow you?"

The Uruk rolled his eyes and smacked his forehead. He cursed in Orkish under his breath. No use hiding the truth, he thought, and he spoke in greater detail the story he had told Glorfindel: of the Orcs and the Rohirrim. Of the details he added:

"A scout, going by the name Gorpugh, tracked me down. He tricked me into thinking that the Mordor bloke was after his skin as well. I let him stay with me, and after two weeks, I confirmed his boss's hunch: that I slew the Uruk-hai. Well, little Gorpugh gave me the slip, and as soon as he done that, I knew I'd been had. That's when I made the suicidal decision to run for Rivendell."

Then he spoke of the fight that broke out near the Gap of Rohan, of his injuries, and of his flight north. The elf-lords frowned deeper and deeper, their brows melting into tight furrows. The Uruk had indeed taken a capital risk: not just his life, though. The life of every remaining elf in Rivendell was under threat, and the twins' company might be waylaid by the unsuspected orc party.

Lord Elrond needed to know: "Norgash, where are the orcs? When do you last remember seeing them?"

"Many miles south," replied the Uruk, "near the mountains. But I fear they won't be satisfied until they find my corpse. Gorpugh's captain—I can't remember his name right now—but I do know this: he's notoriously vengeful, and smarter than most Uruks. And the Rohirrim? Yeah, they're Elf-friends, but they'll also follow the Orcs wherever they go. I must say, Lord Elrond, I truly am sorry," he said, frowning immensely, "but you're gonna have a horde of vengeful people marchin' up to your doorstep. And if I know both parties right, especially the orcs, it's gonna be very soon."

* * *

**Glossary: **_Morlâzg_ (Black Speech) black shield. Original Mordor Uruk.

_Akasht_ (Bl. Sp.) bone-cutter. Original Warg.

_rûkkurv_ (Bl. Sp.) horse-fuckers. The Rohirrim.

_Morpilik_ (Bl. Sp.) black shield. Original Mordor Orc.

_Gorpugh_ (Bl. Sp.) tough arse. Original Orc scout and Warg-rider.

_Mithdorel_ (Sind.) misty land. Original Elf

_Glirgwaen_ (Sind.) wind that sings. Original Elf.

_Karkarg_ (Bl. Sp.) red fang. Original Isengard female Uruk shaman.

**Footnote****s:** …but night or day, moon or sun, fair weather or storm, the Uruk-hai's thirst for glorious battle drove their existence. (Derived from _The Two Towers_, "Helm's Deep.)

Suicide may be a great Uruk hobby, but _we_ aren't going to make it our living. (Derived from television show _The Young Ones_, "BOMB.")

I don't trust you lads, not as far I could kick off your heads. (Derived from _The Return of the King_, "Mount Doom.")

He recalled the tale of a dying elf, who had also heard voices on the edge between the world of the living and the world of the _fëar_. (See the previous fanfiction _Foul Dips Into Fair_ for more information regarding Mormirion and Norgash. Chapter 5 illuminates much of Norgash's past in _Of Elves and Uruks_).

Dimelda's death (See the previous fanfiction _Foul Dips Into Fair_, Chapter 2: Norgash tells Glorfindel that he has killed Elves but only to spare them the agony of further torture. An unnamed elf, who Norgash called 'Dimelda,' was the last elf prisoner of Isengard. He was the first elf with whom Norgash felt a connection, and the Uruk so pitied him that he killed him and privately buried him.)

My clan travelled out of Mordor as soon as Uruk-hai became an independent race… (According to Tolkien, the first Uruk-hai appeared near Gondor during the Third Age 2475.)

**Recommended reading: **

_Orcbrat_ by The Lauderdale—the story of a young Man-child, Maevyn, taken as the stubborn thrall of a band of Orcs and Uruks. A darker read based on the frank nature of Orc races, it is mature and well-written. Available on Fanfiction Dot Net and Henneth Annun. One of many inspirations for this story.

_A Question of Breeding_ by Tyellas—a oneshot fanfiction, featuring the twins Elladan and Elrohir. Instead of outright hunting orcs, the hunters begin to wonder what it truly means to be an orc. Can the marred race be redeemed, or are they forever doomed to perpetuate evil? Available on Henneth Annun and the author's home site, Ansereg. This will serve as a major inspiration for the chapters to come.

**Disclaimer: **The author, Danners, makes no claim over Tolkien's creations and makes no monetary gain from writing this fanfiction. However, original characters, including Norgash, are the intellectual property of Danners and may not be used without permission.

15


	6. Of Love and Loathing

**Chapter 6 Of Love and Loathing**

_Golug._

_Azuruk._

_Bâkaz._

_Zanbaur pushdug!_

_We're gonna mess you up right, we will! You'll make sweet sport, Golug princeling._

_Yeah, we'll mess you up real nice and then skin ya!_

_—but not if you start to look like us like legends say, Sunshine Locks—_

_—Golug flaguz!_

_Murderin' Elf!_

In a rush Glorfindel suddenly awoke from his terrifying slumber. A cold sweat covered his body, while stinging droplets dripped into his eyes. Though the Uruks who had caught him had not kept him long, they had effectively influenced his already burdened mind. For uncounted years, the prince-lord Glorfindel had encountered first-hand the evil of Orcs. Many brothers had fallen to orkish blades, their bodies continually defiled after death. Many sisters fled to the Undying Lands in order to avoid the Bane of Celebrían. And in a world with already too few Elvish children, fewer adults became parents out of fear of the world.

Glorfindel rose. The ground felt colder than usual that night, the air heavier with anticipated ills. Evil had come to Rivendell, unintentionally brought by one who should have intended it.

Norgash had told no lie and no exaggeration. Orcs were hunting him, and he could no longer dwell where the Eldar lingered.

The elf passed through his bedroom door and walked to the Uruk's chamber, not too far from his. He knocked gently on the door, and though no one invited him inside, he entered quietly and walked to the Uruk's bedside. The Uruk opened his eyes.

"What now, elf?" he growled.

"You are restless, too," marked Glorfindel. "For how long have you been awake?"

"Since this afternoon," said Norgash. "I feel tired as hell, but I just can't get my eyes to close for more than ten minutes or so." Then he sighed heavily.

"May I join you?" asked Glorfindel.

The Uruk scooted to the empty side of the bed. Glorfindel laid atop the sheets on his back, hands knitted over his chest. He sighed, and a momentary silence followed.

"I've only got one day to get out or get strung," growled Norgash. "I might as well stay. With Elf warriors and Uruk-hunting Orcs, at least if you lads kill me, you'd make it quick, wouldn't ya, _Zanbaur_?"

"The Elves of Rivendell shall not kill you for refusing to leave," said Glorfindel. "The hand that expels you shall use brute force, but we shall not kill you. If one intends you harm, remember that I have sworn to protect you with my life.

"Besides," he then added, "you have _three_ days in which to leave."

Norgash snorted. "Ideally, I ought be out in _one_ day, the elf-lords said, and no longer than three."

"Whether you depart tomorrow or some hour after," said Glorfindel, "we must sneak you away so that none may follow."

"How in blazes are you gonna do that?" growled Norgash. "The hills and valleys are swarming with elven archers and swordsmen. You can't just get by them like it's a flick of the wrist. And once one of you lads knows something, it gets out to the whole lot."

"Do not let fear consume you, Norgash. We shall find a way to keep you safe from Elves, Men, and Orcs."

Norgash sighed and grumbled, and another pause settled between the pair. Each being began to contemplate his life thus far and which direction to take it. Glorfindel knew that he could never bring Norgash to the Undying Lands, though the thought had crossed his mind at least once. However, left alone on Middle-Earth, the Uruk would never be safe. All his life had been misery, and none, save a very few unlikely allies, helped him. To Glorfindel, the Uruk had proven himself worthy, but he was doomed to die, perish just as he had in his elven life, tragically and alone.

Therefore Glorfindel could no longer conceal what he knew to be true.

"I have dwelled on many thoughts, and I know that you were meant to find me."

The Uruk blinked and propped himself on his elbow. "What's that?"

Glorfindel smiled and gazed at Norgash. He said, "Mere chance did not lead us to our meeting mere months ago. Powers beyond us saw fit that you and I should meet in that forest and again in Rivendell, of all places. Norgash," he said, placing a hand upon that rugged cheek. "Elenfëa..."

The Uruk rumbled in reluctance but did not withdraw from the Elf's warm touch. Then Glorfindel said, _"Estin hirig i Galad, Mormirion. Estin hirig man etheltemmig."_ And with that, he sat and slipped off the bed, strolling to the door.

" 'ey, Glorfindel."

The Elf paused and rounded. Many words weighed heavily on Norgash's tongue, and he did not know which phrase would sound less foolish. Curse that Elf—he had roused feelings in the Uruk that he had not experienced since their first encounter. He did not know what to make of them, other than the base, animal instinct to toss the golden-haired lord upon the ground and... well, do just about whatever he bloody pleased. But that was an immediate gut reaction, not exactly the more civilised feelings he was supposed to carry in this Elf dwelling.

The Uruk shook the lustful thoughts from his head. "Never mind. Go back to bed, _Zanbaur_. I don't want you attempting any untoward things while I'm half-asleep and you well awake."

Glorfindel smiled. "Sleep well, _mellon nîn_."

* * *

The next morning arrived without storm or stress. Except for feeling sore, Norgash had healed quickly thanks to Elrond's medicine. Unlike most Elves, Hobbits, and some Men, the hardy Uruk had endured the orkish poison from the arrow and completely recovered from it. Despite his good health, he always had an attendant by his side: either the adept Glorfindel or the gregarious Dulínion.

While Elves watched the Uruk who lived among them, patrols watched activity carefully from outside the houses. The fear of more unwelcome visitors seized the residents, and more quickly than before did they pack their belongings, anxious to linger on Middle-Earth one day longer.

Echanor proved most uneasy. With Mithdorel and Glirgwaen by his side, the eagle-eyed warrior watched the road to Rivendell carefully, awaiting the slightest sign of the twins' arrival. Unlike lords Elrond and Glorfindel, Echanor had not been seduced by the Uruk's ruse, for he remembered well the crimes of the Orcs. He remembered the days when Sauron walked in the guise of Annatar, parleying with the Elves in his fair form, quietly ushering doom and war to their doorsteps.

_Not as I walk this land,_ he thought, _may we suffer the torments of bygone years._

Meanwhile Glorfindel spoke in the greatest confidence with Thorondel on the methods of spiriting Norgash away. They agreed that no matter where he fled, he would be hunted. The band of Orcs would prove his greatest challenge, but even if the warriors of Rivendell managed to find and utterly destroy them, Norgash was forever marked.

"I have tantalised the thought," said Glorfindel, "as foolhardy as it is, to invite him to the Grey Havens."

Thorondel thoroughly shook his head. "We have shown this _uruk_ more generosity, in proportion to his questionable heritage, than even the Dúnedain. Can you give the gift of the Undying Lands to him? For worthy men such as Beren or Elessar could not and cannot escape their ordained fates. Shall the Elves suddenly invite all peoples to that which has not been given to them? We are in no position to pass such judgment."

Glorfindel sighed heavily. They had barely gone anywhere, and the second day was quickly gaining. Finally, the prince-lord realised that all their lines of thinking only seemed the easiest.

"We must think beyond convention," he marked. "We shall not take the easy, westward road, my friend, for we know not how long that will bear out. We shall walk the perilous but unanticipated road east."

Thorondel cocked his head. "What intend you?"

"We shall keep Norgash here until the brothers arrive, even if that means that we break Elrond's law and keep him beyond his given time."

The colour rushed from Thorondel's face. "Are you mad?" he cried but then after hushed his voice. "Was the rage of Echanor not enough for you? Do you not realise that while the lords of Rivendell trust you, few others would have this Elenfëa linger? He should have died by now were it not for the kindness of you and Elrond—"

"And you as well, _gwador_ Thorondel," said Glorfindel. "You brought him here—"

"Against my better judgment!" Thorondel cried, and he ran a shaking hand over his head and sighed. "You truly wish to risk your so-called eastward road?"

Glorfindel nodded, and the captain sighed again.

"Why do I allow others to compel me to dance in the midst of midnight storms, atop steep and narrow hills?"

"Then will you—"

"—support your very, very mad cause? I shall," Thorondel sighed, "though I will it not and savour it no better. But you are _gwador nîn_, for I have known you since the day you hailed from the West. I admire few Elves and love even fewer. Your sacrifices have been great, and that willingness is both your strength and weakness.

"Yes, Glorfindel, I shall help you and defend you—and your charge—when the time comes."

Therefore the mad plan was set into effect. They told none, including Norgash, of what they intended. If Elrond disagreed, then they would hide the Uruk until the brothers arrived. Only then would the full purpose of keeping Norgash be revealed.

They did not need to wait long.

As the sun rose upon the third day, time felt at once slow and fast. At any moment, the Elves would drag Norgash from Rivendell, and he anticipated in a much humiliating manner. However, the parade could not begin soon enough for him, and he felt forever restless in his room.

Elves waited. Uruks just did. Maybe a smart male would think things out, but he did so quickly. Boys itched for a fight, for the chase, for a hunt, and for good sport. Even a settled down soul like Norgash needed action, and while he did not care for being chased down the four corners of the earth, he would at least have been _doing_.

Suddenly, a visitor appeared: Dulínion. He was perhaps one of the last people he wanted to see, though. That cordiality irked him, and he did not trust an Elf that seemed to trust him easily.

"Your time has come to depart," said Dulínion sadly, "and still I know very little about you. Perhaps this is for the better."

Then he asked Norgash what he cared for as his final meal in Rivendell.

The Uruk hesitated. Elvish food was made of finer stuff, make no mistake. Of course, that was what made it so hard for his stomach to take. He preferred hard orkish liquor and meat cooked rare, even the occasional sheep covered in spices imported from Harad. But elvish food, sweet and light and overall just fair, did not sit well on his tongue or his belly.

The Uruk grumbled and then replied, "None. I know not when I leave and should not leave on a full stomach."

In his typical, kindly fashion, the young elf insisted, but this time, Norgash did not suppress his true feelings. The Uruk snarled at him and rose. He roared, "Let me be! _Go!_"

Stunned by this turn, the elf fled. The Uruk walked wearily to one corner of the room and sat gazing through the open window. Why had Glorfindel not yet come? he wondered. He could not possibly wait until the last minute.

* * *

Elrond had the same opinion. Two hours after noon, the Lord of Imladris approached his comrade. He asked why the Uruk had not yet departed; "For my people dread that the longer he remains, the greater the chance he might slip away and unveil us to evil."

Glorindel raised an eyebrow. "You and I share the same people, Elrond, or have I suddenly forfeited the blood of my fair race because I defend a stranger?"

"The people of Imladris are my responsibility," said Elrond. "I am lord of this house and these lands. This is a haven, not a fortress. The patrols have long existed to assure that no evil comes, for unlike my fore-bearers, I have never assumed that my house was ever out of danger. The fate that befalls it when we have all departed concerns me not, but none shall be harmed while I still dwell here."

"Would you trust him if he were an Elf?" wondered Glorfindel. "For we too can turn upon one another as starved wolves."

Before Elrond debated any further, cries arose from outside the house in which they stood. Elladan and Elrohir had returned with their company, spotted less than half of a mile away. The lords gazed at one another, and Elrond sighed and shook his head.

"You have put your charge at risk," he said. "Even as I vouch for his civility, you know not the passion that my sons have for avenging their mother, my wife." Then he departed to the gate through which they would enter.

Glorfindel dashed through the halls to Norgash's chamber. Curious of the commotion, the Uruk had poked his head out the window. He very well understood what they were shouting, and he little enjoyed the news. Where the deuce was Glorfindel? he wondered, and just as if by magic, the golden-haired prince-lord appeared.

With a rumble, the Uruk sat back down and said, "What now, my pretty, little _Zanbaur_? I've not been spirited away, and I don't think the Foe-Hammers will be quite pleased, seein' my ugly face."

"Be still, my friend," said Glorfindel, "and listen carefully. If you panic, then you shall make mistakes, and those mistakes might be fatal."

The Uruk rumbled again. "Don't be afraid for me, sunshine hair," he said, crossing his arms. "It's the brothers that are the problem. I know I can act civil—don't take me a lot, believe me or not. And where in all of the elven realms has Echanor snuck off to? Gone out to roll out their welcome mat, I wager, pleased as a bear what come has honey come to him."

Glorfindel frowned and marched up to Norgash. The Uruk tensed, expecting a smart smack on the face. Instead, the elf pulled him out of his chair and began to straighten his clothes and hair.

"Say naught about Echanor," he said, "if all you have to say is ill. He gives no credit to his cause by fuming like a mountain of fire, but you fare no better by speaking poorly of him.

"Now listen well, Norgash, for I have warned you once and might not warn you again: speak not. Gaze not into either brother's eyes, and listen well to all that is said."

Norgash raised a hairless eyebrow. "What are you getting at?"

"You shall walk before me, no faster and no slower, and keep very close to me. I intend for Elladan and Elrohir to meet you and very gradually become acquainted with you and your story."

With his jade green eyes as round as full moons, the Uruk clearly thought the plan suicidal for him.

"Do I look like a pin cushion?" he asked. "Uruk-hai might not be afraid to die, but we aren't daft motherfu—"

Glorfindel pleaded with wide eyes to trust him. The Uruk groaned and rolled his eyes. "You just promise me that if I get knifed, shot, or what-have-you, you make sure the bloke who done me in gets what he deserves."

Glorfindel smirked. "Of course. Shall we then?"

Norgash shrugged. "Why the hell not?"

All the while, Echanor's party had been the first to spot the brothers' company. With waves of relief washing upon the warrior, Echanor greeted them with wide arms.

"The stars shine most brightly on your arrival," he said. "You know not the troubles that have befallen your father's house."

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged troubled glances. The whit of shadow that had fallen upon Elrohir's heart in particular stirred. He hearkened back to the words of the Rohirrim, and a familiar dread awoke from the depths of his memory.

"Tell us all that you know," said Elrohir. "Withhold no detail, for I have held a strange inkling in my mind for days."

Elladan cocked his head but asked naught. The riders dismounted and led their horses; all the while, Echanor relayed the tales of the strange discovery, the terrifying being, and the ill-boding events surrounding its presence in Rivendell. Greater and greater grew the trouble in the orc-hunters' spirits. What devilry had brought such a being so close to their father's joyous home? The goblins of the Misty Mountains had retreated further into their dark caverns after the Ring had been destroyed. None should have been so bold as the challenge the Elves within their lands.

"This is no mere _orch_," said Mithdorel, "but one of the _uruks_, the Great Orcs that can march in the sun. He came out of Isengard and knew Saruman closely."

"And our father allowed it to enter?" asked Elladan, and the elf nodded. "You bring ill tidings indeed, but such bad news is not unknown to us. During our journey up, the noble riders of Rohan had their own strange encounter."

Then he recounted what the Rohirrim had told him, and this in turn distressed Echanor. However, the elves began to piece together the Uruk's true identity. Could he be that very Uruk that the Rohirrim had been chasing, the injured Warg-rider whose tracks fled toward Imladris? And what could they do to the creature who lived under Elrond's protection?

"Our father's word is law in his house," said Elrohir. "If such a being begged for mercy, I find it strange, though not unlikely, that it received such kindness. But he has not forgotten the pain caused by Orcs, Echanor, for he commands you and others to roam this land until all have safely departed for Valinor."

"This is true," said Elladan, "for surely he has not forgotten the loss of your brother, a valiant warrior, and your sister, a gentle maiden of our mother.

"Magolithil seemed to be another brother to Elrohir and me. Few archers who I have known or have come to know have the same eyes as he did. I lie if I say that I envied him not, for I greatly aspired to command such accurate aim."

"And fair Meltinnien," began Elrohir with a sigh, "you could give her any instrument, even one of crude Man-craft, and sweet melodies followed."

"Yes," sighed Echanor, for his memories of his fallen brother and sister were bright and kind. "She was a wilful creature, though, and quite adventurous. Father always called her _Gwilwileth_ for she could settle quietly no longer than a butterfly on a blossom. Despite the darkness and acknowledged evil of earlier days, she wished no less than to travel to all corners of Middle-Earth."

Then he chuckled and said, "One might have believed her to be a Hobbit, and truly I say, she would have found fine company in such tiny, happy folk."

The elves laughed but for a moment. That adventurous spirit might have been Meltinnien's undoing, for she had longed to see Lothlórien and did not wish to leave her lady Celebrían's side. None could fault the innocent for her death, though, no more than Magolithil or the other elves appointed to protect the company. Less than half the escort had survived, scattering upon the ambush, and fled to Rivendell. The remainder had fallen, and Lady Celebrían and her three maidens had been taken hostage. Only the lady had survived.

With no more words exchanged, the elves returned to Rivendell. An enthusiastic assemblage greeted them heartily, but no one dared to mention their undesired guest. With Elrond present, no one felt the authority to speak of the matter before he did. As soon as he embraced his sons, though, some one cried, _"Ceno! Tôl!"_

All eyes turned toward the houses out of which walked the Uruk. He walked neither swiftly nor cautiously, and close behind him walked Glorfindel, as tall and commanding as was familiar of him. His eyes did not burn as some feared, but instead, serenity, confidence, and control exuded from his ancient spirit.

Perhaps the brothers might truly spare this creature, thought some of the elves, but an air of unease had dispersed the cheerful atmosphere.

_"Dago i úan!"_ cried several voices, and the company drew their weapons.

Elrond threw his hands into the air and stepped before the company. "There shall be no bloodshed on these grounds. Let him speak before you pass judgment, for you know not the reason for his living."

The hunters exchanged glances. Though they relaxed their stances, they kept their weapons at the ready as the Great Orc approached them.

The assemblage parted in the middle as Norgash moved forward. An imperfect circle surrounded him, and his sole escape was the path behind him. When Elrond commanded him to halt in Sindarin, he obeyed—to the surprise of the newcomers—for he had come close enough to the brothers: just a knife-throw away.

"Why are you come?" asked Elrond. "Why have you remained? For have I not asked you to depart within three days? The time has passed, and you risk your safety for every moment that you linger."

Though his words seemed intended for Norgash, his eyes rested firmly upon Glorfindel. The prince-lord ignored his frustration and said, "I have chosen to save Elenfëa's life by risking it."

"Elenfëa?" said the hunters, each of their eyes wide. "Glorfindel, why call such a foul creature by a fair name? What has it done to be named as if it were a worthy friend?"

"He has saved my life from the same people with whom he called allies. He is a rough fellow, but he is kind. He rarely displays his heart, for his people have taught him that there is weakness in free expression. I have taught him that among Elves, his expressions are safe so long as his outbursts are not violent."

"You call it... Elenfëa?"

The Uruk rumbled and rolled his eyes. He cocked his hip, crossed his arms, and drummed his fingers.

_A lad can't play a dumb animal when he knows just every little word being said,_ he thought. _Life would be loads easier I think, though, if I didn't understand every little insult these blokes keep makin'._

"But it is an _orch_!" cried Elladan. "Countless are the crimes that..." He stopped and paced about, words piling higher than the Misty Mountains. He knew not where to start.

"His story is long, Elladan," said Elrond, "and though a few have been bold enough to question my decision to heal him and let him remain, the decision belonged to me alone.

"Norgash has endured two lives, and both are replete with sorrows. We cannot cast judgment upon him, for the Unseen Powers have already cast his lot."

"Norgash? Elenfëa?" said Elladan. "Which is it? How many pet names in how many tongues does this... unnamed creature bear?"

The Uruk's clenched his fists as his agitation flared. He stood stock-still as Elladan continued:

"Has it a Dwarf name or perhaps Dwarf allies? Has it made merry with the Riders of Rohan or fought to save the Men of Gondor? Does it call upon the halflings to recount tales beside the fire, drinking ale and singing songs as if the Enemy had never existed?"

_"Ui-polil adar lîn?"_

Silence immediately fell. Either an elf did not believe he had heard the Uruk speak Sindarin, or he did not believe that Norgash had challenged a dedicated orc-hunter. Glorfindel tensed and wondered what fool idea had gotten into Norgash's head. He was walking on the very ground that he had warned was crumbling and fatal.

"It spoke? In Fair Speech?" the company wondered.

"Yes," he replied in their tongue to their astonishment, "and you act very rudely. However, I am certain that Echanor is to blame. Has he spoken ill of me? He finds that good sport."

The silver-haired warrior flew at him.

_"You disgusting, unpitiable abomination!"_

Mithdorel and Glirgwaen hurried to grab him. He stood mere inches from the Uruk, who bared his teeth but resisted the inclination to lean in and rake a nasty claw across his face.

"You should have died long ago! You and your filthy, wretched, irredeemable kind! _Monster! Murderer!"_

_"Daro!"_

Everyone turned to Elrond, and indeed, he had commanded the stop; but another voice had projected louder than even his. Thorondel, flanked by Arastalen and Athacúran, marched down the path leading to the gate. He and his men had been prepared to go on another patrol, when they overheard the altercation. He had not seen Elrond immediately and anticipated the worst when he saw the scene.

The captain finally saw Elrond and stood beside him.

"You shame us, Echanor," said Thorondel. "You curse and snarl like a beast. You sow the seeds of doubt, trouble, and despair without gathering the facts. Hear now! You are relieved of your sword."

Then Arastalen stepped forward, open hand outreached. Echanor had heard little, so instead Mithdorel obeyed the command, removing the entire belt and handing it to the warrior.

"Too fat too quickly, Norgash Elenfëa," said Elronod, "has the kindess of the Elves made you. Hold your tongue, Lynx of Isengard, for you caterwaul about rudeness and injustice, yet you forget the hatred between Elves and Orcs is neither unfounded nor unending.

"As for you, Echanor," he said and received a challenging stare, "vengeance rules your heart, and grief has clouded your mind. Your passion burns with the brilliance of the sun, yet you little realise that you smoulder. You shall do well to stand down before you are consumed by fire."

In soothe Echanor's rage had been dangerously roused. His eyes barely wavered from the Uruk, and he heaped upon him one thousand curses. To insult the brothers and then accuse him of conspiracy were wholly unfounded, slanderous, and poisonous. His body battled against the restraint around him, and finally—but not without great reluctance—he resigned himself.

_The hour will come,_ thought Echanor, _when it casts off the mask of friendship and dons the helm of war and death._

As if he had read his dark thoughts, Glorfindel turned his sight on Echanor. He knew well the elf's grief, but he was also deadly aware of his hot-blooded nature. Even Elladan and Elrohir had found him too unpredictable and had long ago asked that he no longer run with their company. So he had remained in Rivendell until late, but at that moment, his long withheld emotions had bubbled to the service. Elrond's words no bared any weight, and if Norgash were ever left alone, even in his chamber, Echanor would kill him or have him killed.

And despite Glorfindel's warnings, Norgash had made the situation utterly worse.

"For now I shall reserve fault on Norgash's caretakers for disregarding my counsel," said Elrond. "Until the matter has been resolved, both Echanor and Norgash shall do well to respect the peace and sanctity of Rivendell. Stay you out of the sight of the other, and speak no more of him whether he is present or absent. You have each experienced sorrowful lives, but neither takes care to understand the other's pain.

"As for my sons, none may speak with them until I have explained all that has transpired. I must now take the burden of clarifying all that they had witnessed, severing exaggeration from what has happened."

With those words, he dismissed the entire courtyard and led his sons away. The brothers made no attempt to shield their contempt from Norgash, shooting narrow gazes at him. The Uruk rumbled and stared back at them nonchalantly, and soon he and Glorfindel were alone.

"Do all Uruk-hai lock horns like rutting bulls?" said Glorfindel. "Have I not said, 'Beware of Echanor, for he seeks to prove you forever ruined'? Have I not told you, 'Beware Elladan and Elrohir, for their hatred of Orcs might be your end'? Has naught that I have said sunk into your head but instead was repelled from a mountain of stubbornness?"

The Uruk rolled his eyes. "What's the big deal? They didn't kill me—did ya see? Not a scratch on me; and here, you had me pissin' a bit, and I just got let off!"

Glorfindel frowned. "You fortune shall not live forever. You stand upon the edge of a knife, Norgash, and you need lean forward only by a hair to plunge into the void. Now more than ever you must _listen to me_ and cast aside that orkish pride. It shall be your undoing!"

Then the Uruk frowned. "All right, sunshine hair, take it easy! You obviously got some kind of pull here or else I'd have been dragged out about now. Now we all know it ain't right for me to be here, but I have got to find Mauhúr. He's as fast as any horse living with elves or Rohan boys and twice as clever. Not to forget, he's probably lookin' for me. You find him and arm me with your best weapons, and I can take the Mordor's lads, no problem."

Glorfindel sighed and ran both hands over his head. "But we have found no sign of a Warg. None."

Norgash smirked. "See? Clever boy, Mauhúr is."

"And dead if he comes within one hundred leagues of Imladris." Then the elf sighed again and begin hurrying away.

"Where you goin'?" asked Norgash.

"I must speak with Thorondel and his patrol. They shall have the answers I seek."

"What about Echanor?"

"He has been ushered away by Elrond's trusted men. I advise you to hurry back to your chamber, though, and await Dulínion. Tell him that he may not leave you, even if that means he must disobey all lords."

"Even Elrond?" asked Norgash, a hairless eyebrow raised.

"Take care, Norgash!" and Glorfindel hurried to the stables to catch up with Thorondel.

The Uruk stood and snorted. What a fine mess! he thought. What an utterly dandy predicament! There he was, a wolf among sheep that, instead of fleeing from him, could actually stampede him to death. He could fight back, yes, but the numbers were not in his favour, and he had a sinking feeling that Glorfindel was right.

_No, not a feeling,_ he thought again,_ it's a damned fact, it is._

Damned Elves were bloody uptight. Of course, uptight Orcs were not too much different, except nobody but the bosses got on your ass for starting a row. Most Orcs enjoyed watching a good fight. Still, as uptight as the Elves were, Echanor had an especially keen hatred of him. Even Elladan and Elrohir had seemed a bit unnerved by their comrade's sudden episode. He had looked like a Mordor war-dog, minus the heavily spike collar and foaming mouth. Echanor's loathing of Orcs was much too atypical, even for an Elf, and Norgash had a good mind to find out why.

And whom better than to ask than that chattering, young Elf, Dulínion? That lad always had a question for Norgash. Time to repay the favour, in a matter of speaking.

* * *

**Glossary:** _Azuruk_ (Bl. Sp.) orc-killer.

_Bâkaz_ (Bl. Sp.) murderer.

_Golug flaguz!_ (Bl. Sp.) Elf monster.

_Estin hirig i Galad, Mormirion. Estin hirig man etheltemmig_ (Sind.) I hope [that] you find the Light, Mormirion. I hope that you find what you have lost. (etheltemmig is the past tense of talteb- 'to lose,' which comes from talt 'loose or slippery' and heb- 'to keep.')

_Magolithil_ (Sind.) sword of the moon.

_Meltinnien Gwilwileth_ (Sind.) dear/precious twilight butterfly.

_"Ceno! Tôl!"_ (Sind.) Look! [It] comes!

_"Dago i úan!"_ (Sind.) Slay the monster!

_"Ui-polil adar lîn?"_ (Sind.) Do you always question your father? (pol- "to question, to inquire")

**Footnotes:** "We shall not take the easy, westward road, my friend, for we know not how long that will bear out. We shall walk the perilous but unanticipated road east." (From "The Council of Elrond," _The Fellowship of the Ring._)

"... unlike my fore-bearers, I have never assumed that my house was ever out of danger." (Elrond's great-grandfather, King Turgon, did not heed the warnings of Ulmo, brought to him by the Man Tuor, regarding the safety of Gondolin. While the city had been betrayed by another, Turgon's confidence contributed to the tragedy.)

**Recommended reading: **_The Truth of Ugliness_ by WatcherChild—this Silmarillion-based one-shot takes a glimpse into the conversion of one Elf into an Orc. The original character, Nellin, finds that nothing is ever as it seems, and as Morgoth torments his body, he also torments his mind. Available on Fanfiction . Net and Henneth Annun.

_Captain of Mordor _and _Orc in Ithilien_, both by Draylon—these fanfiction stories follow the riot-rouser Shagrat as he becomes involved with Faramir in the post-War years. These richly written reads are not for children and not for persons adverse to slash. Draylon has some general writing and heterosexual writing available, but all these stories can be found on AdultFanfiction . Net and other websites supporting mature writing.

**Disclaimer:** The author, Danners, makes no claim over Tolkien's creations and makes no monetary gain from writing this fanfiction. However, original characters, including Norgash, are the intellectual property of Danners and may not be used without permission.


	7. Unpleasant Disclosures

**Chapter 7 Unpleasant Disclosures**

Obviously, Glokgroth had not been given that name at birth, and as far as any of the lads knew, it was usually more of a title, really, but one that the old Orc had earned. Men and Elves had always assumed that all Orcs lived short lives, no longer than the natural life-span of Men; that is, if they happened to survive in-fighting, infections, battles with other Peoples, and the like. And really, Orcs lived short lives, and as such, unlike other Peoples, they found no use in recording birthdays. Life was too miserable to be celebrating one's coming into existence.

Still, just because the majority of Orcs matured fast and died soon did not mean that they lacked their share of old timers. A bloke's age was gauged by what battles he had seen, and rumour ran that Glokgroth had seen his plenty of battles, even cut down his share of Elf-flesh (which, according to him, was not as appetizing as Man-flesh. Eating Elf, he had said, was like drinking beer that was all foam and no taste). Glokgroth had apparently been around since before the Third Age; he had even been at the Seven-Year Siege of Lugbúrz, when those filthy _tarks_ and _Golug-hai_ had gotten the balls to cross the Dark Lord.

When word would get around in a bar or some other pit, most of the lads seemed pretty impressed. Though Orcs have never had much love for one another, a certain level of unspoken respect could be earned among ranks. Young lads always had a host of questions for wise, old blokes like Glokgroth, but he was much more humble than Orcs who commanded similar clout:

"Pizz off, ya young fookin' bastards!" he would reply. "Clear off, and mind your own business."

That usually shut them up right away, and they would skulk back to their little corners, muttering curses back at him, flipping 'loving' fingers at him, and grumbling smartly. He was a _sharkû_, all right; a very surly _sharkû_.

Despite his many years, Glokgroth was finally beginning to feel that his nights—as opposed to _days_—were numbered. Orcs had never been meant to walk the world so long. Hell, they had not been meant to walk the world at all. He had lost a couple of teeth and a couple of fingers, had picked up a bit of a limp, and did not see too well out of one eye. He could not drink liquor like he used to do—hell, beer could make him ache from time to time. The only reason why he had not gone and got killed was because Morpilik got some use from the old Orc, due to his near infinite insight.

Morpilik was by some accounts an old bloke, too, but nowhere near as old as Glokgroth and not commanding the respect to bear that name. They got along well enough, at least by Orc standards, and for a warrior like Morpilik, he was just smart enough to keep old _dolpatrûz_ with him.

"Gar, captain," whined Gorpugh from the front, "sun's got me flesh sizzlin' like pork flesh over a fire pit, it does!"

The large Uruk leader, who picked up the rear, snarled wordlessly. Here they were, walking in the shade, but as soon as the tiniest smidge of sunlight hit their skins or twinkled in their night-friendly eyes, the Snaga-hai whined and whined and _whined_.

"Methinks our leader don't know what he's doing," Morpilik growled to Glokgroth, who marched directly behind him.

"Quiet!" one of the Uruk-hai snarled. "You fuckers have been chatterin' and chatterin' enough!"

Morpilik bristled and nearly stopped in his tracks. Whether they hailed from Mordor, Isengard, pig muck, or Ongburg itself, Uruk-hai were all the same: arrogant shit-wits who went on the most suicidal excursions, just to get their stinking rocks off.

However, reprieve arrived almost instantly. The march suddenly halted. Akasht sniffed the air and snarled. Then he pressed his nose closely to the ground and licked up every scent from many moons passed. Despite his obvious labour, Morlâzg growled loudly, "What's wrong?"

Though Wargs can speak the black tongue of Mordor with ease, Akasht could barely be understood except by Warg riders. Even then, he answered only to Gorpugh. The little scout questioned him, and Akasht replied. Then the scout leapt off his back and relayed the message:

"Trail's warm enough, captain, but somethin's up. Says he smells Warg all over the place, like it'd gone in more than one direction. Somethin' else too: _Golug_ stink. Ten of them passed not too long ago ahead of us. Headin' for the Elven Witch-Lord's place, I'll wager."

"So what?" growled Morlâzg.

"Akasht needs a couple o' minutes or so to pick up the trail. If he dunno which way that bloke went, we'll end up lost, we will, captain."

Morpilik snarled and threw his hands high. "Captain, he says! Captain! What 'captain,' Gorpugh, you snivelling, little worm—"

"Shut up!" growled Morlâzg, but the stout Orc had already turned from the company, marching off and muttering curses.

The Uruk stomped to the scout, towering tall over him. He growled, "You've got less than a quarter of an hour. Sniff him out!"

"Yessir," said Gorpugh, and he hopped back on Akasht's back.

"The rest of you," Morlâzg called, "stay very close. I won't have any lads sneaking off like damned thieves."

Two of the smaller Orcs sighed in relief, glad to take a breather. They scuttled beneath a tree with a top so thick, not a lick of sunlight touched the ground. Meanwhile, Glokgroth decided to follow Morpilik; keep a close eye on the hot-head, he thought. Plus, he needed to relieve his old boy.

"Can you believe that swine?" Morpilik hissed as he released his own foul-smelling stream upon a young oak. "What makes that shit-wit so sure that that Isengard bastard is alive?"

Glokgroth rumbled as he pulled back his loincloth. Morpilik continued: "I'll give the _rûkkurvug_ scum a good skinning, sure enough, if I ever I see 'em again. But I don't go out of my way to track down the _exact_ fuckers what sliced Baltlûk and Fakthal. Waste of time, waste of energy, and downright foolish as fuck."

Shaking off the last drops, Glokgroth tucked his loincloth back into place.

"Could be me missin' a few, old _dolpa shrapflokz_," said Glokgroth, "but that Isengarder wa'n't normal. Somethin' about 'im done chilled the skin off me body th' minute I looked at 'im."

Morpilik growled and rolled his eyes. Not this one, too! Had the lot of them lost their minds?

"The only thing I found out of sorts," he said, "was that coward fleeing the scene. Fighting Uruk-hai—skai! He tried slipping away the minute he saw us coming. Fearless, indeed! The lot of them are full of lying scum." And he spat to the side.

The older Orc rumbled in thought as he slowly walked back to the company.

"Saruman's Uruk-hai—th'weren't normal. Gave 'em special attention, 'e did—mo' than th' Eye gave to His Mordor broods." Then he rumbled and licked his teeth, grinding them slowly. "Somethin' about them seems a tad more… advanced, is the word? Mmm… more _sorcerous_, I wager."

Gar, where were everyone's ideas coming from? Glokgroth was indeed getting greyer with every night passed, but he could not have gone senile in such a short period.

"All right, _sharkû_," said Morpilik as he walked beside him, "what do _you_ think?"

"Fr'm what I've gathered, the White Hand kept some Orcs what weren't normal. Tale I hear…" He paused and glanced over each shoulder. Lowering his voice, he leaned closely and said:

"We're goin' to Elf country ain't th' least bit savoury, but me? Didn't surprise me none. Tale I hear, Saruman kept an ol' clan of shamans, whose leader was a nasty bit o' business—a _gothlob_ whose name ya daren't speak. 'Ad a couple of girls and one lad, and they was a mysterious bunch, even to their strange clan."

Then he hissed, "I 'eard tale—tale, o' course, but still—that she used _Elf_ spunk to make all three o' 'er spawn."

Morpilik instantly recoiled and shook his head. He wrinkled his nose and squeezed his eyes shut.

"What fucking bullshit is that?" he shouted. "Shagging Elves for _breeding_? Gar, you're lucky my stomach is empty, but I might be heaving just the same. Gar!" And he shook his head and gagged.

"But," he added, "knowing what that sick wizard-fuck was doing, breeding our People with _Men_…" He shivered. "Why didn't he just have us shaggin' Wargs or Spiders or the like? Revolting!"

"Wadn't just Saruman's doing, lad," said Glokgroth to Morpilik's growing horror and disgust. "That clan o' Uruk shamans done played with _white_ magic—_white_. Rumours been that they met with Elf-witches and witch-lords at crossroads and danced naked with 'em during stormy nights. Course, that's hard for even me t' swaller down, but the White Hand breeding mongrels fr'm Men _and _Elves? That much I do believe.

"But no matter what that lad is, lad, I'll wager me last teeth he ain't dead yet; not by a long shot. An' what if he was? Won't do us no good, not finding his body, not even a set o' bones. Morlâzg won't be content 'til _he_ is convinced that that Isengard murderer is dead. Me hopes we find somethin' soon, though, for all our skins."

Even for a wise, old _dolpatrûz _like Glokgroth, most of that story had been hard for Morpilik to choke down. However, he was right about Morlâzg: if they did not find a body soon, they would march closer and closer to the Elves. And if Morpilik remembered from experience, Elves fought just about as dirty as, if not dirtier than, Orcs.

Suddenly, Morlâzg started shouting for them to return. Morpilik cursed while Glokgroth merely smirked in mild amusement. That Uruk had let his supernatural reputation go to his head. He was formidable, no doubt, enough to make even the older Morpilik shut his stubborn trap up. Still, there was no reason getting all worked up because of the Uruk. Even the Big Bosses had gotten theirs in the end.

Good news was that Gorpugh's mutt had caught the real trail. Bad news: they were less than fifty miles within Elf territory, well within killing range. For sure, a troop of ten Elf rangers had passed some time ago on their horses; since the Orcs had taken it slow, they had just managed to miss being detected.

"The fuck if I go any further," sneered one of the two other lesser Orcs.

"Agreed," said the other. "_Golug-hai_ will catch ya, skin ya, boil, and then eatcha."

"As if I won't?" growled Morlâzg as he marched toward and towered over the lads. Just as they cringed, expecting to be cleaved in two, their leader changed his expression suddenly: flattening for a moment, and then, very slowly, a heinous grin moulded onto his scarred face.

"Be my guests, then, lads," he said as he sheathed his sword. "If you want to be cowards, don't let me stop you. Glory belongs to the fighting Uruk-hai, and I'm not keen on sharing with maggots."

The two orcs cocked their heads and looked at one another. As the Uruk corralled the others and not them, they figured that they really were off the hook. They shouted curses and laughed at the company as it began to journey away. They turned and began to march away from this suicidal plan.

Then without warning, one of them cried out, and all but two of the Uruk-hai glanced back. Galiduf, the go-to archer, had made perhaps the cleanest shot in his days since the War had ended: nailing the one who had sneered at Morlâzg, a simpering fool named Azgolug who had already made a bit of a name for his rotten self (rumoured for shagging corpses, he was). His companion, Durb'hiish, looked terrified as Galiduf nocked another arrow. Then Morlâzg, eyes on his attentive company, said:

"You need only one lad to send a message, but with Orcs, who can tell? It might just take two."

Galiduf eased his arm but kept the arrow on target. Durb'hiish did not move, and Morlâzg continued:

"I need as many lads with me as I can get. I had plans when I recruited that lot of Isengard Uruk-hai, and one of their own done slit their throats and cost me valuable men. I'm not in the mood to cut another one of you down, but I'll be damned if one of you chicken-shits on me. Next one steps out of line, I'll kill you myself and make it real nice and slow."

The fear in the lesser Orcs' eyes told him that they understood him perfectly. Their fear of Morlâzg quickly replaced their fear of the Elves, and with Durb'hiish's narrow arse back in line, the band of Orcs marched deeper into the land of their enemies.

* * *

Miles away, safe from the band of Orcs, Norgash was not entirely out of danger. The dreaded Foe-hammers, Elladan and Elrohir, had returned with their company to Imladris. To make matters worse, Echanor had completely lost his mind, and if his mouth had been larger, he would have bitten Norgash's head clean off. Now the Uruk searched for one of the few people willing to help him, but oh! That was right—smart him, he had barked at Dúlinion earlier that morning. At his pace, he would lose Glorfindel and Elrond eventually.

Not one to be wholly discouraged, the stubborn Uruk carefully walked up and down the halls, peeking inside unlocked chambers (which, with his presence, had become fewer and fewer), knocking on doors, and asking for Dúlinion.

At first, the elves did not care to oblige him. Their eyes avoided him, and they passed him as he spoke, pretending that he did not exist. Of course, being an Uruk, this tried his patience, and eventually, his good humour ran thin.

Finally, on one of the flowery decks, a pair of elven lads (at least, Norgash thought they looked like lads; he could never tell until they spoke) stood chatting, unaware of his presence. They looked familiar, and he finally recognised them as two of the elves who had filled his bath.

Norgash smirked. They had few exits, and if they jumped, they would get a mouthful (and then some) of the bushes about ten feet below. The Uruk marched to the open door and onto the deck to their amazement and horror.

"Now please listen!" he commanded in their tongue. "Lord Glorfindel has told me to find Dúlinion. Where is he?"

The elves glanced to one another, lips pressed tightly. Norgash rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"I shall sing Orc drinking songs here and now," he threatened, "if you refuse to say. You know not what Orc songs are like."

Apparently, they imagined, for the horror in their wide eyes doubled, and they blanched. Finally, one replied, "His chamber stands near the hall where we delight in song-making."

Norgash grinned. The elves recoiled.

"Truly?" he said. "Show me."

The elves talked over one another in hesitation frantically. Speaking faster did not make them too much harder to understand, though, and Norgash said, "Fine. But I am not he who wills this." Then he began to recite an uncouth, Orkish tune about a bar waitress with the mightiest bosom this side of the Great River. Of course, he could have been speaking harmless nothings, but as long as he spoke Orkish, he definitely helped to expedite their decision-making.

The elves hurriedly ushered him to Dúlinion's chamber. As much as they desired to leave (especially after that horrific whatever-it-was), they did not dare. Dúlinion needed protection from that beast, physically and aurally.

The elves knocked.

"_Minno!"_

The elves opened the door and greeted the young elf. He greeted them back and asked why they had come. Norgash wedged in between them and entered the room. Dúlinion's eyes widened.

"Why came you?" he asked.

"I must speak with you," replied Norgash.

Dúlinion's eyebrows knitted together, and immediately, the other elves felt that trouble brewed. One of them suggested that Norgash return to his chamber and to wait for Lord Glorfindel. He grabbed the Uruk by the shoulder and began to pull him out.

"Wait!" exclaimed Dúlinion. "I will that he stay. He shall not harm me."

The elves hesitated, that Norgash indeed wait or insisting that they remain. Dúlinion insisted that he could handle any problems, and with that, he ushered them through his door. Then he shut it tightly and sat on his bed.

"Why came you?" he asked again, his eyes wide with sorrow. "I have feared that I had offended you."

The Uruk grimaced. The thing that galled him was that he wanted to apologise. Well, he needed to apologise; it was only proper, he assumed, but Orcs never apologised. Even with his unusual behaviour, he could barely spit out the words:

"I'm… I'm… s-s-s-sorry, lad," he slurred in Common Speech to Dúlinion's surprise. "I never intended to scare you. I was just a tad frustrated, was all, and still am a bit. That don't mean I intend you any harm."

The elf cocked his head and rose. "Why… why speak you in Weston? Are you no Elf?"

Norgash was the one to look amazed. _Why the hell kind of question is that?_ he thought.

"That is to say—"

"Look, lad," said Norgash as he stood close to the door, just in case. "Westron's my way of saying I'm easygoing. I use it among friends."

_And dumb-shit Orcs who don't speak a lick of Black Speech_, he thought.

Dúlinion cocked his head to the other side.

"You and I are friends?" he asked as he walked toward him, his Elvish accent stronger than most. "You consider us friends?"

Norgash tipped his head side-to-side and shrugged. "I mean, you haven't stuck me yet, and ya want to get to know me. That seems rather friendly to me. And I respect you people—well, I try to, at least: speaking Elvish, dressing nice, stayin' real formal with the lords. I think that says something about me.

"But I am… s-sorry for earlier, lad. I don't really have an excuse, just a reason, and that is my nerves are tense from this whole hullaballoo."

A smile like the first day of spring brightened Dúlinion's face. He strolled up to the Uruk and patted his shoulders.

"Forgive me, my friend," he said. "I am so brash in my youth. I was blind and foolish, completely ignorant of your feelings. Oh, Elenfëa!" And with that, he kissed the Uruk on the cheeks.

Norgash rumbled. Last time he had been pecked on the cheek, he and Glorfindel were just about to part ways from that field, not so long ago. He little understood practices of Elven affection, and when Saruman had described them, he had spoken in less than complementary terms.

"You Elves always do that?" he wondered.

"Do what?" asked Dúlinion.

Shaking his head, the Uruk said, "Never mind."

When the elf offered him a seat, Norgash declined. Dúlinion returned to his bed and gazed merrily at the Uruk.

_Creepy lad_, he thought.

"Listen, Dúlinion, I need some information. Since Glorfindel's gone on a hunt of his own, you're about the only other elf what'll give me the time of day, I need your assistance."

"Of course, Elenfëa," said Dúlinion, "you need only ask."

With a harsh sigh, Norgash crossed his arms. He needed to watch his words, he thought. These Elves were a touchy bunch. An innocent phrase, such as "Nice locks," might send a bloke into a foaming rage.

"Echanor and I had a bit of a tussle," he said, "down by the gate. Really illuminated some things to me, but there's a big question I need answered: why is Echanor so dead set on rippin' _my_ head off?"

Dúlinion cocked his head. "You do not know?"

Norgash threw his arms in the air. "If I done known anything, I'd be more inclined to keep my mouth shut. Now I know Elves've got their secrets, but this is a life or death matter. If I don't figure out what sets off this… elf, my throat's gonna end up sliced up fifteen different ways."

For a moment, the young elf hesitated. He noted to Norgash that he was too young to remember what had occurred nearly five hundred years ago, but he would do his best to recall what he had been told.

Therefore, he relayed the tragedy of Lady Celebrían and her escort, the deaths of Magolithil and Meltinnien, and the long-stranding hatred Echanor held. Indeed, Norgash became more illuminated, but he grew more ill as well, and some things still nagged at him.

"Were the lords Elrond and Glorfindel a part of the band that reclaimed her?" he asked.

"You must ask them," said Dúlinion, "for I know only of Elladan and Elrohir."

"Hmm…" He definitely planned to asked sunshine hair later.

"Elenfëa?"

The Uruk glanced back at the elf, whom seemed to hesitate with the information in his mind. If he had something to say, said Norgash, the lad better well speak up. Dúlinion licked his lips and finally said, "Echanor is not by nature a cruel Elf. Though I have known him for only the forty-one years that I have lived in Imladris, he is caring, kind, and loving at his core. But I fear that the sights of his brother and sister, dead, naked, and mutilated, put a poison in his heart that not even the brothers carry.

"Echanor's vengeance had grown beyond avenging his kin. When first he hunted with the brothers and the Rangers, his passion was no greater and no less than theirs. But in time, he became more… unpredictable, shall we say? For Elladan and Elrohir would no longer ride with him, and he was forced to retire to the peace of Imladris until the patrols began anew."

A bell rang loud and tremulous in Norgash's mind. His eyes widened, and their spirited green colour dulled with paleness of shock.

"You mean to tell me," he said slowly, "that the Foe-hammers themselves dismissed Echanor from Orc-hunting? For what? Being too enthusiastic?"

Dúlinion shook his head. "That is not what I have said, at least about his passion. You must ask them, but I doubt they shall be inclined to tell you."

"No sh—no kidding," Norgash nearly shouted, throwing his arms high into the air. Then he paced and snorted. He burned much of his energy, resisting the natural urge to break aught in the room.

Aware that Norgash's outburst was apparently normal, Dúlinion defied his fear of chastisement and put his hands upon the Uruk's shoulders. Then the elf said, "I apologise if my words have caused you great distress, Elenfëa. You have asked for my knowledge, though, and I have told you what I know. I can tell you no more, for only those who suspect and hate you can augment your knowledge."

The Uruk snorted and sighed. "No, _leghin_, I think I've learned about all I can stomach for today at least."

_Gar! No wonder Glorfindel was telling me to keep my trap shut!_ he thought. _Here I thought I was pokin' a dog, but this bloke's nastier than a starving bear._

"_Norgash glutrûz bagpukhal,"_ he snarled, smacking his face. _"Kurv brusat pu narflaukûrz-ma dri lat."_

The young elf looked mystified and somewhat horrified by rough language and its unknown (to him, at least) message. Obviously, he had never heard Black Speech or any Orkish tongue. Elves did not care to learn languages other than theirs and learned Westron only for the convenience of other Peoples. They did not dare touch Dwarfish, and the Dark languages were absolutely out of the question. Every word must have sounded like a curse to him (and at that moment, it had happened to be).

"Elenfëa?"

Great. Now he was going to have to explain his self.

"Where has Lord Glorfindel gone? He was supposed to take you from Imladris, but I assume from our conversation, you are staying?"

Norgash smirked. Oh yeah, he had nearly forgot. "Yes, lad, I'm here to stay. Just a while longer until we can figure out what to do. He's gone to ask Thorondel for help, and he says you've got to stay with me until he returns."

"Oh!" The elf looked surprised but not disappointed. "Well, if this is truly the case, you are welcome to stay here, though my chamber is not much roomier than yours."

Indeed. All these Elf lodgings seemed to have enough room for two or three companions, which may have been the case. They were a hell of a lot larger than aught Norgash had ever slept in, as far as Orc lodgings went.

And what was this all about him staying in his chamber? Naïve Elf—he looked into those sparkling green eyes. He was a fair-looking one, and perhaps all the fairer to his kind for his naïveté. Norgash had heard that Halflings were a sociable bunch, but this lad probably had them out-done.

Finally, Norgash laughed.

"Dúlinion, was it?" he asked. "How innocent is that soul of yours? You ever see one battle? So much as shoot a hare for supper?"

"I have, and I have," replied Dúlinion. "I have fought only one battle in my life: at the Pelennor Fields alongside the brothers and King Elessar. And I have hunted for my supper, but I treat animals with utmost respect and hunt by strict codes. I shall say of battle, I am glad to be rid of it and shall be most joyful to join my family in the Undying Lands."

Then he paused and said, "Which leads to me ask you: if you were once an Elf, as I have heard tale, would you join us at Grey Havens? The Valar might be able to heal you, to mend you into what you once were, if you are sincere of heart and seek forgiveness for past malice."

At the mention of such an absurd prospect, Norgash's face was wiped blank. Who but the One Himself would authorise such a preposterous venture? An Uruk in the Undying Lands? Ulmo might sink the boat he was on—hell, the whole fleet that went with him! And had he been in Elf? Glorfindel was certain, and Norgash had to admit, certain events and encounters in his life could not be dismissed as mere coincidence. There was something to his youth, the lost journal, and his dreams.

_Don't forget, though, you're an Uruk for a reason_, he thought. That dumb ass Mormirion had cursed out the Lord of Mandos and swore in his and Elbereth's names. At least, he had not made a wholly irrevocable vow, like that shit-wit Fëanor and his homicidal sons. But still, Elf or Uruk, he had to make some big, big apology to some big, big, _big_ entities.

"Dúlinion, my lad."

"Yes, Elenfëa?"

"I like you lots, lad, but stop putting ideas into my head. There's a reason Orcs don't like to think, and my throbbin' head knows why."

* * *

**Glossary:** _Glokgroth_ (Bl. Sp.) Grey-tooth. Original Mordor Orc.

_dolpatrûz_ (Bl. Sp.) fox wits; lit. fox-brains.

_Ongburg_ (Bl. Sp.) Angband, the "iron prison."

_Baltlûk_ (Bl. Sp.) Son of the marsh. Original Mordor Orc. Killed by Rohirrim.

_Fakthal_ (Bl. Sp.) Butcher. Original Mordor Orc. Killed by Rohirrim.

_dolpa __shrapflokz_ (Bl. Sp.) fox whiskers.

_gothlob_ (Bl. Sp.) lady; queen.

_Galiduf_ (Bl. Sp.) Crazy knife. Original Mordor Uruk archer.

_Azgolug_ (Bl. Sp.) Elf-killer. Original Mordor Orc.

_Durb'hiish_ (Bl. Sp.) Black ash. Original Mordor Orc.

_leghin_ (Sind.) Green-eyes.

_Norgash glutrûz bagpukhal. Kurv brusat pu narflaukûrz-ma dri lat._ (Bl. Sp.) Norgash, [you] piss-brained shit-talker. A whore has a cleaner mouth than you.

**Footnotes:** _… he had even been at the Seven-Year Siege of Lugbúrz, when those filthy tarks and Golug-hai had gotten the balls to cross the Dark Lord._ (Referring to the Last Alliance of Men and Elves, led by Elendil and Gil-Galad.)

_At least, he had not made a wholly irrevocable vow, like that shit-wit Fëanor and his homicidal sons._ (According to _The Silmarillion_, Fëanor and his seven sons swore a dire Oath, in Ilúvatar's Name. As a result, none of the Valar can help any who have sworn by Ilúvatar's Name, even those truly repentant.)

**Recommended reading: **_The Ransom at the Redhorn_ by Thranduil Oropherion Redux—a more rib-tickling perspective on Celebrían's captivity. The goblin-king Snarg and his lot find out the hard way that Elf-prisoners can be high maintenance. Availabile on Fanfiction dot Net. In the word's of Snarg's lads, it's delicious.

**Disclaimer:** The author, Danners, makes no claim over Tolkien's creations and makes no monetary gain from writing this fanfiction. However, original characters, including Norgash, are the intellectual property of Danners and may not be used without permission.


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